Erin Complete

Rate This Story:

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 01
The Cane

(***, M/m, Intense, Teen caning)

A girl discovers caning. (Approximately 559 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

CRACK! The sound was like a rifle shot. It sent such terror through my body that I nearly piddled in my panties.

Again came the dreadful sound, followed by a stranger and somehow even more frightening one: my brother crying.

My brother is much older than me. I was about five at the time of his first caning; he must have been ten or eleven. I have always looked up to him, and he has always been protective of me. The thought of big tough Tommy crying made me begin to weep.

Then the door opened and I saw Tommy stumbling out of my father's study. He was sobbing and holding onto his bottom as though afraid it would fall off. He ran toward his room. My father loomed in the doorway, tall and foreboding, a long bamboo rod in his hand. His expression was stern and as he turned to go back inside his study, his eyes caught mine. He did not smile but only stared at me. I could not move. His eyes bored into me and I stopped crying. I could only stare at him in horror. I couldn't understand why this man I loved so much would hurt anyone, especially me or Tommy.

As soon as the door was shut I ran to Tommy's room. Though I knew he did not like me to enter without knocking, I did so anyway. He was standing in the middle of the room, naked, and looking at his butt in the mirror. When he saw me he was furious.

"Get out of here, Erin! Bloody pest!"

I did not speak or move, but only stared at his bottom. Where it normally was white skin was an angry series of weals. Some looked dark and purplish. I began to cry again.

"Oh, sis, it's okay," said Tommy, becoming compassionate. "Pop just had to give me the stick, that's all."

This only made me cry harder.

"Here, you want to put some cream on me?"

I nodded, sniffling. Tommy laid face down on the bed and I got to smear lotion on his sore bottom. There were six welts, each about as thick as a man's finger. They were whitish on the insides and dark red along the edges. They reminded me of railroad tracks.

It was strange. The welts both fascinated and repelled me. A part of me wanted to run away. Another part wondered what they felt like. The part that frightened me the worst was that I suspected it wouldn't be too long before I found out. I resolved then and there to become a good girl. I swore to myself I'd never be naughty again.

That night as I lay in bed I saw the face of my father as he stood at the door and stared at me, that awful cane in his hand. I began to cry. Finally I got up from bed and went into Mum and Pop's room and got into bed with them. They were both very sleepy and didn't say much, though I could tell they were surprised. I was just happy that my Daddy didn't have the cane with him. He looked normal then, and I snuggled up in his arms and fell right to sleep.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 02
It Had to Happen

(***, M/f, Intense, Teen caning)

A girl experiences her first caning. (Approximately 1,647 words. Originally published 1998-03.)

As I grew older my fear and dread of the cane did not lesson. I saw that it did no permanent injury to my brother, even when he was fiercely beaten several times for fighting at school, but I was still in awe of the marks it left. I did my best to be good, which wasn't saying much, for I had a short temper and an even shorter memory. I must have gotten the slipper every week or so as a child, and the older I became the longer and harder the slipperings became.

One day when I was ten years old I went off to play with some friends. It was a beautiful Saturday, and I was in the mood for adventure and fun. We had recently moved to a new neighborhood and I was wanting to impress my new friends, so the entire day I behaved rather recklessly and impulsively. I made rude jokes and insulted shopkeepers and generally made a royal ass of myself. The kids adored me, and thought I was cool. I remember wishing I could feel so envied all the time.

I did not come home at the time I had promised my mother I would. I was having too much fun. When I finally came home well after six o'clock Mum was waiting for me in front of the house.

"Where have you been, young lady!" she screamed. My face flushed and I scowled. I sensed my friends stopping and turning to watch. I was horribly embarrassed. This wasn't fair at all!

Mum began scolding me for being late and threatened me with a spanking. That did it. She was treating me like a baby, and here I was almost an adult. I told her to bug off, and I used a few words so choice that I didn't even know what they meant. I was still high from my exciting day and I wasn't thinking rationally.

Mum just stood there, jaw agap, and then pounced on me. I don't know how she moved so fast. Once second she was six feet away and the next she was dragging me into the house by my ear. I was screaming in protest and trying not think of my friends watching when she said something that chilled my blood and sobered me up real quick.

"You just wait until your father gets home, young lady! You're old enough for the cane now, and your father's going to give you six of the best! Now get inside and go to your room!"

It was as though a black cloud had settled over the world everything was dim. I forgot about my friends outside, I forgot about everything, and I fell to ground at my mother's feet and begged her not to tell Daddy. She literally dragged me inside. I couldn't stop crying. The horror of the cane petrified me. She couldn't be serious! Not the cane, surely not the cane!

Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. It was wild and unconventional, and it went against all my instincts, but I did it. I ran upstairs to my parents' room and found one of Mum's heavy slippers. I brought it back down to her, still crying and sniffling.

"Here, Mum," I said bravely, though I was very frightened. "I know I was bad. I won't do it again, I promise. Please slipper me."

Mum looked at me and her eyes softened a bit. Then her face grew hard. "Erin, my dear, you are a piece of work." With that she dragged me across her lap, flipped up my skirt and began to whale on my bottom with the slipper. It hurt very much and I wanted to struggle and run away but I knew I deserved it and I couldn't help but think how much better this was than the cane.

It was a long and painful slippering. Mum spanked all over my bottom. It felt like my bottom had swollen to double its normal size when she'd finished, as I stood crying and rubbing it. She made me go to the corner then, and "wait for your father."

I didn't know what to think about that. Was she still planning on having him cane me? Surely not!

It wasn't long before my father came home but it seemed like forever. When I saw him my heart leapt and dropped at the same time. He knew immediately what had happened.

"What did you do now, Peaches?" he asked, using the nickname he's called me since I was a baby.

"I came home late," I said. "Mummy slippered me good." I made a big show of wiping away my tears and pretending I was still sore.

Daddy clicked his tongue and shook his head. He went into the kitchen and I heard low voices rising and falling and intense words. A moment later he was back. "Go to my study, Erin."

My knees nearly buckled. "Oh, please Daddy! I--" I froze when I saw his face. I'd seen that face before. It haunted my dreams. It was his "Don't Argue With Me" face--a stubborn soldier's face, immovable, impassible, unchangeable.

My heart dragging on the floor, I obeyed. There was no getting out of it. I stood in my father's study--normally a place I loved to visit as it was warm and cozy and crowded with papers and books and items--and I was terrified. I could hear my father's heavy footsteps echoing faintly around the house as he changed clothes and all too soon his feet approached the study door.

"All right, Peaches, let's get this over with." Daddy came in and without glancing at me went straight for the cupboard where I knew he kept his canes--three of them, long and fearsome. He took out one--the shortest one, thank God--and approached me.

"Your mother has told me what you did and said, and I must say, I am very disappointed in you. It's one thing to behave childishly and irresponsibily, but it's quite another to be arrogant and rude about it. That is why you are to be caned, Erin. You are growing up. Your attitude must be kept in check or you shall turn into a horrible brat of a child." He paused. "Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Daddy," I sobbed. "Please, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't, dear. Now be brave. This won't take but a minute. A canning is very different from a slippering. There is no one to hold you in place and keep you from squirming. You must hold yourself still and steady and ask for each stroke. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now bend over. I shall lift up your skirt, like so, but since this is your first time I will not take down your knickers."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Keep yourself stretched tight--that's it. Good girl. When you are to be caned this is the position you must take. Remember it, for in the future your punishment will be worse if you do not cooperate. Now ask for the first stroke."

"Oh, Daddy, please!"

"Come on, girl. Ask for it."

I took a deep breath and wetted my lips. My body was taut and I was terrified. My head was down near my knees and I could not see anything, though I sensed my father behind me, ready to hurt me terribly. "Please, sir, may I have the first stroke?"

There was a light swish, far softer than I would have thought. Something bit into my butt then, and I forgot everything. The pain was red hot, blindingly hot. I howled and tears burst from my eyes. I must have gone running around the room because the next thing I remember was my father, pulling me away from the door and making me get in position again.

"Do that again and the stroke will not count!" snapped my father, very angry. I glanced back at him and saw he was legitimately upset, and I felt bad. Though I didn't want to all, I got in position and politely said, "Please, may I have the second stroke?"

This time I heard the CRACK as the cane sliced into me. The white hot pain was unbearable, especially to one so young. I sobbed and screamed, but I did not get up. I stayed down. It must have been a minute before I was calm enough to talk. "Number three, please."

This time I was ready for it. I knew what to expect. But it blew me away. The pain was so sharp it surpassed everything I had ever known. It made me sick to my stomach just thinking of how badly it hurt. I imagined the weals across my arse and I shivered. "N-number four, please," I said in a tiny voice.

The answering CRACK took my breath away. I was weeping full-time now, unable to stand still, though I did not get up. This last blow was very low, striking near my thighs, and it especially hurt my right cheek. A certain spot throbbed and my whole arse ached.

"You may stand up, Erin," said the voice. I could scarcely believe it was true.

"T-that's it?" I said. "Four strokes?"

"Do you want more?"

"No! I mean, er, no, sir. I will be a good girl from now on."

"I know you will be. You _are_ a good girl."

My father hugged me then, and after kissing my forehead he put the cane away and left. I stood without moving for several minutes. My bottom was sore but bearable. My hand trembled when I held it up. I was shaking all over. I couldn't believe I had survived my first caning.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 03
Boarding School

(***, M/f, Intense, Teen caning)

A fate worse than death: boarding school. (Approximately 503 words. Originally published 1998-03.)

After my first caning I avoided more for almost two years. I was afraid of it, and for good reason: I knew how much it hurt. But at the same time there was less mystery about it, less unknown. I knew it hurt and it was to be avoided, but my fear was no longer irrational terror.

When I was thirteen I began my teenage rebellion. It was a mild one compared to some children, but for my strict parents I was out of control. I received several canings that year, and by the time I was fourteen it was developing into a habit. It was not one I particuarly sought out or enjoyed; it just seemed I was always in trouble. Failing to do my schoolwork, being rude in class, or performing my household chores with less than perfect attention--these were but a few of my shortcomings.

When I turned fourteen it got worse. I started hanging out with a group of older girls and boys, and we got in trouble at school and with the law. Nothing serious--minor vandalism and things like smoking and kissing in the hallways--but it upset my father terribly. He caned me frequently during that year--at least a couple times a month--but it did little good. I only got to show off the marks to my girlfriends and enjoy their admiration.

Finally my father had enough. When Sally Mae and Donna and I were caught snitching from the local sweet shop they called the coppers on us. Soon enough I found myself in my father's study, sweating over a dozen of the best.

These weren't mild strokes with the little girls' cane either, but brutal stingers with the senior boys'. I wasn't allowed the dignity or protection of my knickers either, and at least psychologically that made it seem far worse.

But Daddy didn't stop at the expected dozen. He kept right on going--giving me a full eighteen. That's when I knew something was seriously wrong and I really broke down and sobbed.

"Erin, I cannot deal with you any more. I'm sending you to boarding school."

"What?!"

"You heard me. It's a place up north called St. Esther's School for Girls. I've already spoken with the headmistress and made all the arrangements. You'll be up there by the end of the week."

"But Daddy!"

The man I loved more than any other shook his head firmly. "This is for the best, Erin. You need to be in a place where you can be controlled, watched, and disciplined as needed. You have too much freedom here--you have not learned how to control yourself within it."

I tried to talk my father out of his wicked plan, but there was no reasoning with him. Like me, he is very stubborn. I suppose I get mine from him. Later that week I shipped out for my confinement at St. Esther's.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 04
Stripes

(***, F/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Punishment by proxy. (Approximately 619 words. Originally published 1998-03.)

I was prepared to hate the place long before I arrived. Imagine my surprise when the school turned out to be a beautiful place, with large clean buildings filled with awe-inspiring history and wonderful green lawns and gardens. I felt small and insignificant in the light of such dignity and I soon learned that the girl's of St. Esther–regardless of why they were there--were a close-knit group that were proud of their school and their heritage.

The other girls treated me with a mixture of curiosity and distance that was appropriate for a new girl, especially one entering in the middle of the term as I was. I approached things cautiously, nervous about how things were done at the new place, and fearful of getting myself in too deep too quickly. I resolved to behave, at least as much as I could, and try to stay out of trouble.

On my first night at the new school I got my first taste of the discipline of St. Esther. Fortunately it was a taste by proxy.

I had been assigned a bed in one of the dorms, a large room with about ten other girls. I had my own chest of drawers and I shared a closet with two other girls. My things had been put away and I had been taken on a tour of the grounds by a senior girl named Michelle who unfortunately wasn't very talkative about the school but had all sorts of questions for me about myself and why I was sent to St. Esther. I did not tell her the truth, but made up a story of how my father had always wanted to sent me to boarding school but couldn't afford it until my rich uncle died and left the family some money.

After the brief tour I separated from Michelle and headed back to my bed. It was evening, rather cool and lovely, and I enjoyed the walk. Entering my dorm, however, I immediately sensed trouble. A number of girls were gathered around a single bed and everyone appeared startled and afraid when I showed up.

"Uh, hi. What's going on?"

One of the girls I had met earlier, a brunette named Mary who shared the closet with me, came over to explain. She rolled her eyes back behind her and said, "Cathy got the stick."

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"The cane. Cathy got caned. She's showing off her stripes. Come look."

I followed Mary as she pushed her way through the crowd. A large blonde girl was lying face down on the bed, her skirt flipped up and her knickers nowhere to be seen. Her bare bottom was striped with huge red lines that were much darker than those my father had always given me. I couldn't help but touch my own bottom with my hand and feel the rough remnants of my last caning as I watched poor Cathy squirming as girls alternately teased and comforted her.

"What'd she do?" I asked Mary.

"She failed to turn her in lines. She had three hundred due this afternoon and only had two-fifty done. Miss Chalkers tore up those and sent Cathy to the head. Now she's got five hundred due first thing Monday morning!"

This news made me very nervous and showed my wisdom in waiting to test the waters before getting into trouble. I couldn't believe that St. Esther was a strict as my father had led me to believe, but I wasn't going to take any chances. Here in front of me was evidence that St. Esther's School for Girls did not fool around with mild punishments.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 05
A Meeting With the Prefects

(****, f8/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin learns her place. (Approximately 1,447 words. Originally published 1998-03.)

My second day was the beginning of my initiation to the ways of St. Esther's. It was Saturday, so I missed seeing the typical routine of the school. Most of the girls were engaged in various activities such as outdoor games or studying in the library

My day wasn't boring, as everything on campus was new and different to me, but it wasn't unusual. I ate breakfast in the dining commons, met with Madame Thornley, the headmistress, to establish my class schedule and go over a rulebook which outlined what one can and cannot do at St. Esther's, ate lunch (ham and cheese sandwiches), met teachers in the afternoon, and then had a light supper (a tasty vegetable-beef soup).

The headmistress was large woman, tall and broad, and her mood went from cheery housewife to angry prison matron in a fraction of a second. After seeing her suddenly turn and furiously scold a girl whose uniform was slightly soiled, I decided I would be wise to stay away from Thornley's cane.

But my real adventures didn't begin until Saturday evening just before lights out.

During lunch of the girls in my room told me that I would be introduced to the prefects tonight. She said with an ominous air and much glancing about her as though she feared being overheard and naturally I was somewhat uneasy. But it wasn't until almost bedtime that this was mentioned again.

I was in my night clothes and ready for bed when my new friend Mary came to me. She was also dressed for bed. "They sent me to fetch you," she said.

"What is it?"

"You're to meet the prefects."

She acted nervous, and I wasn't too confident myself. The whole affair was so mysterious and secretive that I was becoming curious as to what this was all about. I soon discovered the reasons behind the hush-hush.

St. Esther has a long tradition of prefects. Prefects are usually older girls, and each prefect is in charge of about twenty girls. There are eight prefects in all. One is required to obey a prefect regardless of whether or not she's your own. Prefects are not allowed to cane but they can slipper you, and they can send you to the head for more severe punishment. They have a great deal of authority, but if you have a conflict you may go to the headmistress for mediation. If the head decides the prefect was correct, you are punished double--once by the prefect and once by the headmistress. It is my understanding that few girls challenge a prefect's rule.

All this I had learned from the rulebook Madame Thornley had given me that morning. I was soon to learn that certain critical parts of the book were inaccurate.

Mary led me downstairs to the boiler room. This was an unused room often used by the prefects for private meetings and gathering. We were met at the door by a young blonde girl who carefully opened the door and led us in. She kept watch through the glass porthole in the door.

The boiler room was dark, rather noisy, and far from the rest of the building. It was certainly private and secluded. A tall girl with very dark hair and pale skin stood at the front of the room. She was holding a long thin white cane.

"Welcome, Erin O'Grady," she said with a smile. "I am prefect Jennifer. Before you are Prefects Denise, Katherine, Lydia, Janice, Karen, Ariana, and last but not least, Prefect Anna. Don't worry--there will be time for personal introductions shortly.

"As a new student at St. Esther's it is important you understand the traditions that prefects represent here. Many modern schools are abandoning the prefect system, but here at St. Esther's we work hard to keep it going. It is the prefect's job to make sure that the school is run well from the inside--your prefect is your friend, your mentor, and occasionally, should the need arise, your disciplinarian. You must at all times show great respect for the authority of the prefect.

"To help you show this respect the prefect is authorized to punish you. Now strictly speaking, a prefect is not allowed to cane you. We are only allowed to use the slipper. But most girls prefer a caning from a sister rather than facing the head. We do it privately, down here, and I'm sure the head knows about it, but she lets it go. So we shall slipper you and occasionally bring you down here for the cane. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, Prefect Jennifer."

The girl beamed at me. "Good, very good. Now, to show you our authority, and to let you show us that you respect our authority, each prefect is going to 'introduce' herself to you with a stroke of the cane. Please come step forward."

Ever since I had walked through the door my eyes had never completely left the cane in Jennifer's hand. I had watched it tapping against her palm as she spoke to me, and before she said it I knew what to expect. I would not leave this room without a sore behind.

I resolved to take it well. When she ordered me to step forward I meekly obeyed. When she ordered me to bend and grab my ankles I did so, deeply aware of how tight this made my buttocks. But then it grew worse. She carefully lifted my nightgown and exposed my knickers. A moment later these were pulled down and my bare bottom was waiting for the cane.

Now I'd been caned bare before--my father often did it that way--but I'd never been caned by anyone except my father. This made me very nervous. Jennifer walked behind me and looked at me. My face flushed as she studied me. Then she lifted the cane.

"I am Prefect Jennifer!" she said sternly, and with a swish-CRACK the cane struck me full across both cheeks and I was gasping and trying not to cry. It was a severe stroke, surely as hard as any from my father. I had not been expecting it to be so bad. Suddenly a caning from the prefects seemed like a major event!

"I am Prefect Denise!" cried a new voice, followed by another swish-CRACK and a lightening bolt of pain. On and on it went, slowly, as each Prefect took her time getting into position and "introducing" themselves to me. Katherine was next, then Lydia, Janice, and Karen. All the strokes were solid and well-aimed. It was obvious these girls knew how to cane.

I was crying slightly by the time Ariana came forward. I noticed her immediately because she walked in a circle around me, watching me, and she even bent down and stared into my face. I'd never seen such a beautiful girl in all my life. I was instantly jealous of her petite figure and wonderous dark eyes. They were like bottomless pools in the moonlight. I felt I could be lost inside them.

"I am Ariana," she whispered in my ear, so close I could feel her breath. "I am _your_ prefect!" I gasped slightly at this and she stepped back and delivered a vicious stroke that caught me right in the crease between my buttocks and thighs. I let out a howl of pain and nearly stood but I somehow managed to stay in position. I whimpered slightly as Ariana came forward and examined the mark from her handiwork, her finger gently drawing a horizontal line across my bottom. It brought tears to my eyes.

Prefect Anna was the last. She was a much older girl. She was very tall and heavily built and I feared she would swing that cane very hard, and indeed she did. She struck me harder than any of the other girls, but strangely, it didn't hurt nearly as much as Ariana's lighter blow. It left me puzzled.

After the caning the prefects all shook my hand and gave me a quick hug. They told me I was a good girl and took the caning well. I felt proud as if I'd completed some great achievement. It was strange. Mary and I headed back to our room, then, and she quickly went to sleep. I lay quietly for a long time, my bottom tingling and burning slightly.

"Indeed, this is a strange place," I thought. But my mind kept picturing those wonderous dark eyes and I finally drifted off dreaming of swimming, lost in an ocean of blackness.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 06
Game Day

(***, M/f, Intense, Teen slippering)

Erin fails at games. (Approximately 1,445 words. Originally published 1998-03.)

I was a nervous wreck my first week at St. Esther's. The rules were simple but there were many of them, and I was still getting used to the prefect-student relationship. I spent the week terrified that I would make that critical error and find myself nursing a sore bottom.

Early Monday morning I awoke with a burning arse and a loud slap ringing in my ears. "Are you going to get up?" said a soft voice. I turned and saw it was Ariana, my prefect, seated next to me on the bed. She was holding a large plimsole in her hand.

"Why'd you do that?" I said sullenly, rubbing my bottom as I sat up. "I'm still sore from that caning."

She shrugged and didn't answer. "Get up. You've got three more coming."

"Why?"

"Are you arguing with a prefect?"

"No."

"All right. Now over here. Put your hands against the wall."

I obeyed, standing with my legs slightly spread, my bottom stuck out behind me. She gave me three loud wallops--two on my left check, and one for my right. Tears sprang to my eyes, but mostly because of the surprise at getting spanked so unexpectedly and because it was humiliating getting spanked by a girl just a few years older than me.

That slippering pretty much set the tone of my day. In maths class a few hours later a girl named Monica was caned three strokes on her left hand for failing to complete her homework assignment, and at lunch three girls got into a noisy argument and Mrs. Cribble gave them each a demerit.

I was eager for games by four o'clock, ready to run off my excess energy. I met the other girls in the lockers and changed into games shorts and soccer shoes and ran out onto the field feeling excited. Silly me. I forgot that I'm terrible at games, especially under pressure.

We met on the south field and Mr. Masters, the games instructor, threw out a number of footballs and had us begin to train. We ran dribbling drills, passing drills, catching drills, all sorts of drills. By five we were hot and sweaty and exhausted. I was very nervous for I saw Mr. Masters constantly watching me, occasionally yelling at me (usually at just the wrong time so that I would be startled and mess up my kick or catch).

Mr. Masters was an instructor at St. Andrew's School for Boys across the street and down the road. He was a tall man, very military, balding slightly, and he seemed to select certain girls to pick on. As he was the only male instructor at St. Esther's he was not permitted to cane us girls, but he could slipper us--and thus he carried a large slipper with him on the field and put it to good us every chance he got.

There was a fat girl named Hannah that couldn't run very fast and when she came in last in a running exercise Mr. Masters seemed to delight in giving her a half dozen on each of her large cheeks. There was a girl named Joanna, a petite shy thing, younger than me, and completely incompetent at games. Mr. Masters slippered her at least twice that afternoon. Donna, a senior girl and very good at soccer, seemed to be on special plan with the coach--she was slippered on three occasions and for silly reasons such as failing to trap a pass properly. Strangely, she didn't seem bothered by these instances.

I began to fear for my own bottom as the afternoon wore on, and correctly it turned out. Our last exercise of the day was practicing penalty shots. Coach Masters broke us into three groups of about a dozen girls each and each group took up in front of a goal and took turns shooting and goal-tending.

I am usually fair at shooting penalties--after all, they are practically a given point in soccer. But this day must have been an off day for me, because I found I was unable to score. I was sure the coach noticed, too, because after my fourth miss he yelled at me to do better. I tried, but missed my fifth shot. It was just dumb luck--I kicked it right at Andrea, the girl goal-tending at that moment.

Immediately Mr. Masters was bearing down on me, waving that slipper. He had me bend over and gave me four swats on each cheek. They weren't that hard but I resented them. "That should encourage you," he said.

Well, it may have, but it didn't help my aim. My next two shots were off, and Mr. Masters quickly "encouraged" me some more. I was growing desperate as he threatened to let me keep shooting until my aim improved and I scored a goal. Fortunately the next girl was a lame keeper and my feeble kick went right between her legs. Everyone laughed at her and even the coach smiled and shook his head.

But soon it was my turn to tend goal. This really made me nervous. I'd never tended goal before, at least not in such a formal setting. The goal mouth was much wider than I remembered and I couldn't imagine how I was supposed to stop shots from entering.

The first three goals went right in. So did the next three, and the next. Mr. Masters came over to me and said rather smugly, "Aren't we going to stop _any_ today?" I tried very hard but though my hand touched the ball on the next one, it didn't stop it from going into the net to my left. The last shot was even worse--I picked left and it went to my right. I looked really feeble.

As new girl was about to take over the goal Mr. Masters held up his hand. "Another round," he said. "Everyone have another go. I want Miss O'Grady here to stop at least one."

My face turned crimson as he had me bend over and delivered six cracking wallops to each of my cheeks. My bottom was burning as I got back into position determined to stop a shot.

I missed. Over and over I missed. I grew worse as time went on, not better. I was unbelievable nervous. I was shaking all over. Mr. Masters' gaze completely threw me off my game. After each miss he'd come to me with the plimsole and give me six on each cheek. Soon my buttocks were really sore and I was crying a bit during the spankings. I didn't want to but I couldn't help it--it hurt far too much and I was so embarrased and the whole thing struck me as so unfair. I felt miserable and wished I was back home. "Even a caning from my father would be better than this," I thought.

But still the girls advanced and took their shots. And still I missed. Finally, the ninth girl stepped up. It was my friend Mary, and I saw her grinning at me. Her hand gestured to my right and I immediately understood her plan. She pretended to flub her kick slightly and struck it straight for me. Unfortunately I dove to the right and the ball went past me and into the net. I was crushed. Apparently she hadn't been signaling to my right at all!

After another dozen I was back in goal. Joanna, the girl Mr. Masters liked to spank, faced me. She wasn't very good at games--she lacked the confidence and drive needed. I knew I could stop her shot. After her were two older girls who played on the school soccer team and I knew there was no way I'd stop their penalties.

Joanna ran forward and kicked. This time I picked the right direction and found the ball heading right toward me. I threw my hands up wildly, and managed to deflect the ball away. It wasn't graceful, but at least I'd stopped the shot. I almost cried with relief.

"All right, all right," said Mr. Masters when everyone cheered. "Next goal-tender. Let's get this moving."

The rest of the day was uneventful, but at supper there were many whispers and glances in my direction and Mary told me that word had spread through the whole school of my adventure with the coach. Somehow I'd become admired as a hero. I didn't feel like a hero. If I was a hero, I was a hero who had to sleep on her stomach that night.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 07
Finally!

(****, F/ff, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin visits the Head. (Approximately 1,206 words. Originally published 1998-04.)

Amazing as it may seem, I did not get caned by the headmistress at St. Esther until my third week. After that first dreadful Monday I feared that on Tuesday I'd find myself in her office, but it didn't happen. I really did try hard to avoid it, and for once in my life my efforts to avoid discipline paid off. I studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and thought before I spoke.

I still faced routine discipline from prefects and instructors, but after my afternoon of slippering from Mr. Masters this was not something I feared. I was still smiling after a sharp dozen from Ariana, something she seemed to think I needed a couple mornings a week. She never gave me a reason for it, and I finally stopped asking. It became our own little routine, and every morning I woke up with my heart pounding, nervously wondering if she'd be there.

My first caning from headmistress Thornley was almost boring in its cause--I'd piled up too many demerits. Five demerits in a single week is a caning from the Head, and though I'd gotten four my first week and three my second, I topped the limit on my third.

So early Friday morning I stood outside the head's door and waited. The head liked to get her discipline work done before breakfast. There was another girl there, an older blonde girl named Heather. We chatted a bit, very quietly. She was to be caned also, and for the same offense.

At seven o'clock sharp headmistress Thornley opened her door and let us in. I was very nervous but resigned. Heather seemed rather bored, but I suspected this was nothing but a mask. We were made to stand in front of Madame's desk while she lectured us, strongly emphasizing her surprise at seeing me so soon in her office, and informing me that I was "starting off on the wrong foot." Then she told Heather to get into position.

Heather bravely went forward and bent over the desk, so low her chin almost touched the wood. She placed her hands flat on the table. Headmistress Thornley went behind the girl and lifted Heather's skirt and tucked it under the waistband. Heather's knickers were next, coming down to her knees. Then Thornley went to her cupboard and drew out two canes--a long heavy senior girls' cane and a thinner shorter junior one. I hoped the junior was for me.

She set the junior cane on the davenport and approached Heather with the longer one. Without a word she began a vigorous caning. It took my breath away. Thornley pulled the cane high into the air, well above her shoulder, and took a step forward as she delivered the stroke. The whistling of the cane through the air was drowned out by the terrible crack of cane across bare flesh. Heather visibly jumped and grunted, and a bloom of redness sprang up on the white flesh of her bottom. Slowly this formed into a thin red line that cut across the exact center of both cheeks and was very straight. I was impressed.

The second stroke was higher, slightly above the middle of Heather's arse. The third was mid-way between her thighs and the middle. By this time Heather was fidgeting a bit, but had made no real sound after that first grunt. I was impressed.

The next two strokes were parallel ones just below the middle mark. Then there was one just above the middle, and then three fast and hard ones right at the base, in the crease, all three right on top of each other. These final three caused Heather's head to go up and thrash about and I thought I heard her yelp a bit. When she finally stood I saw she was weeping, though she made no noise. She pulled up her knickers and undid her skirt.

"Thank you Madame Thornley," she said, and came and stood next to me. It was my turn now! Heather had gotten nine strokes. Of course she was a senior girl. Perhaps I would only get six?

I went to the desk and bent over. I could see droplets of Heather's tears as I got in position. I knew that mine would join hers shortly, and that caused a quivering in my belly.

I felt the head lifting my skirt and cool air gather around my arse. As my knickers came down I felt my cheeks flush with shame and I trembled a little. This was not going to be good, I could tell already. I hadn't been this nervous before a caning since I was ten!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Madame Thornley pick up the junior cane. This was a relief to me, though not much, for I saw that it was almost as thick as the junior boys' my father uses. Madame didn't say a word but stepped behind me. Indeed, the room was thick with silence and had been since she'd ended her lecture.

The first blow was unbearable. It caught me full in the center of my arse as I expected, but the pain was so much more that I was prepared for it made me nautious. I knew the first blow is always the worst, but that was small comfort. Already I knew an unmistakable truth: this woman knew how to cane!

The head did her job without excess emotion or coddling. She simply caned and caned well. I got six of the best, each precisely placed, well apart so I could feel the individual weals, and she waited a different amount of time between each stroke so I never knew when to expect the next. I hadn't noticed that technique during Heather's beating, but during my own it became my nemesis--I was used to my father's regular as clockwork stroke every fifteen seconds.

I couldn't help but break down and sob. I think it was the four or fifth blow. I didn't even care that Heather was watching me. I was just fourteen. It was okay for me to cry, right? I don't know if Heather thought I was a baby or not but the headmistress seemed pleased to see me blubbering.

"Very good, Erin," she said when she'd finished. "I'm glad to see that punishment has some effect on you."

"Yes, Madame," I said through my sniffles. "Thank you, Madame."

"You are welcome. Now both of you have just fifteen minutes of breakfast left. I suggest you hurry."

Heather and I left the office together. As soon as the door closed behind us she turned to me. "Crackers but that was choice! Are you okay? You ought to see the lines she gave you! I've never seen Old Thorn go so hard on a youngster before."

"I'm fourteen!" I protested.

Heather grinned. "So? I'm seventeen and your caning was almost as bad as mind. Do you have some kind of reputation she's trying to break down?"

"I-I don't think so. I don't know."

"Well, I'd watch out, if I was you. She's got it in for you."

Ominous words.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 08
Sneaking

(***, M/m12, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin witnesses boys being caned. (Approximately 1,154 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Lest you think that my time at St. Esther's was all work and no play, think again. By the end of my first month I was becoming much more accustomed to the run of things, and soon I settled down into my old mischievious roles. By this time I knew the run of things and had discovered what one could and couldn't get away with. One practice which I had heard stories about was "visiting" the boys' school. This was extremely forbidden and the horrible consequences of being caught were legendary, but from the first time I heard of this I wanted to do it.

One day Heather, the girl I'd met during my first caning from the head, came to me. She had heard that I was game and wanted to find out if it was true. The rumor was that she had a boyfriend over at St. Andrew's and visited him whenever she could, but she would not confirm or deny this story.

Heather was putting together an "expedition" to watch the boys during soccer practice. While this in itself didn't sound particularly exciting, Heather promised a surprise. Though it frightened me, I was in. There were four of us: Heather, myself, Mary, and a slightly older blonde named Jessica I didn't know very well.

We arrived during "tail end" of the boys' soccer practice. This was a perfect time, I discovered, and the timing was not accidental--I was with experienced spy masters. Mr. Masters, the coach, was even more strict with the boys than he was with us. I cringed the moment I saw him, tall and grim, striding up the field and waving a long whippy cane. It seeemed the slipper was too light for the boys.

Along the edge of the road is a slight ditch and then there's a grove of trees and bushes that runs parallel to the road and the playing field. Within these trees we hid and watched as Mr. Masters called a halt to the practice. I saw the boys did not seem happy about stopping, but obediently lined up in a wide row in front of the coach. He growled and scolded them, telling them how lousy they had played and how even "the girls of St. Esther could whip your butts!"

Then Mr. Masters began to selectively name certain lads he felt hadn't been playing up with their "full potential" and one by one boys reluctantly stepped out in front of their companions until about half of the large group had been selected. We watched with rigid fascination as these boys stood nervously, hands in front of their crotches, shivering in the cool evening breeze. They were wearing soccer shorts and light t-shirts. Though minutes before they had been sweating with exertion now they were chilled with fear.

Mr. Masters approached the first boy, a small lad about my age, I supposed. He was cute but rather scrawny, but when the coach ordered him to turn and drop his shorts he didn't hesitate, but quickly bared his bottom for the cane. I almost gasped aloud seeing his nakedness. I glanced at the other girls but no one else appeared too surprised--apparently this was par for the course. Unfortunately we were too far away to really see anything in detail--but the sight certainly stirred the imagination. As the cane whipped down with fearsome cracks I felt very sorry for the poor boy, but at the same time I couldn't help but feel excited by his pain. It was thrillingly forbidden and exotic to watch what we were watching--naked boys getting six or a dozen of the best. I felt myself growing hot with lust and desire.

Mr. Masters was moving down the line, caning each boy in turn. The first boy stood stiffly, shorts around his ankles, hands in front, his naked buttocks crisscrossed with crisp red lines I could see even from my twenty-five yards away. The second boy was receiving a more thorough caning--I counted at least a dozen strokes--but he was heavier and seemed to bear it better. During his caning I watched some of the other boys, both those waiting their turn and those whose play had been satisfactory. Those who weren't waiting for the stick seemed amused and triumphant, not the least bit sympathetic, and the waiting ones appeared suitably cowed and worried, though I noticed a few that seemed rather bored by the whole proceedings. One boy in particular I saw had almost a smirk on his face. His expression seemed to say, "It's just a whacking--why all the fuss?" I grinned at him and felt rather jolly inside--I liked him. I hoped he'd get at least a dozen crackers--see if that would wipe that smirk off his face.

When he indeed received a dozen of the best I felt rather guilty, as though my greedy wish had been granted. For a moment I thought I deserved to be bending over for the cane more than the boy, but then he stood up and thanked Mr. Masters with a cheeky, "Thanks for going easy on me, sir!" and the coach promptly bent him over and gave him another four strokes!

"Who's that boy?" I asked Mary. "Isn't he just the toast?"

"That's Eric Wyler!" grinned Mary as she whispered to me.

"Bloody fool," I said grimly. "Masters ought to have given him an extra dozen for such cheek." But though I sounded stern, inside my heart fluttered and I couldn't help but admire the boy. I watched him standing tall and proud, with his arms folded on his chest, not caring in the least that he was naked from the waist down.

The other boys were watching him with admiring but cautious eyes and timid expressions--as though they feared Eric's behavior would bring doom upon them all.

When the coach had finished caning the remaining boys and dismissed those exempted from punishment, he walked along the line admiring the marked bottoms. After examining each boy he would dismiss him, occasionally adding an extra stroke or two for a reason he kept well hidden.

There was a scurrying near me and I saw Heather was retreating from our position in preparation of a return to the school. My heart dropped with a sudden sadness when I realized we needed to leave. If we were late for dinner we'd surely be marked down. Reluctantly, we all turned to go.

"Was it worth it?" Jessica asked me, grinning impishly.

I nodded, my mind filled with the image of a certain naked boy standing tall and proud, his buttocks laced with scarlet stripes. "I wouldn't have missed this for the Queen's jewels!" I said boldly. "It'd be worth a dozen of the cane to see that again!"

Famous last words.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 09
The Choice

(*****, m/ffff, Intense, Teen caning)

Caught spying on the boys, Erin's given a grim choice. (Approximately 1,533 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"That's just what I was thinking," said a strong voice from behind us. We all turned, our faces drained of blood, for the voice was distinctly male. The bushes parted and out came a tall senior boy. I recognized him as one of the boys from the field that hadn't had the privilege of tasting the cane.

In terror we turned to run the other way when more boys came forward from all directions. We were surrounded. There was no escape.

"Let's see, Ken," said the tall boy who'd spoken first, "what's the punishment for a St. Esther girl caught off grounds? A dozen of the best?" He winked broadly at his companion, a shorter, bulkier boy with a frightening smile.

"It might be two dozen," said the boy named Ken, his eyes fixing on a frightened Heather who was standing next to me. "Especially if it wasn't their first time."

There was laughter from all the boys. One glance at Heather's face told me the story was true--she'd been caught before. This time she could expect no mercy from the Thorn. It'd be two dozen minimum--perhaps even the birch!

"Go to hell, Jack!" spat Heather with royal defiance I knew she didn't feel.

"Awe, come on Heather," said the tall boy coming forward and fingering the blonde's hair. She slapped his hand away half-heartedly. I could see she was frightened.

"Just call Mr. Masters and get it over with," she said.

"I'm not going to call Mr. Masters."Jack looked at her thoughtfully, and then glanced at the rest of us. Finally he shook his head. My heart foolishly leapt with hope and immediately plumeted--I knew this kind of boy well enough to know we wouldn't get off that easy. He had a price for his silence.

Heather licked her lips and studied the boy. He was tough and handsome in a brutal way. I wondered if he and she had ever done it. They certainly talked like they knew each other. "What do you want?" Heather finally asked with a deep sigh.

Jack grinned. "Six of the best for each of you.. That's not too bad, is it? Much less than you'd get from old Thorny."

My jaw dropped when I heard him say those words. "You want to cane us?" I exclaimed.

He faced me. "You've got something against the cane?"

I shook my head. "No. It's just--" I paused. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say that the cane was cruel or it was weird him wanting to cane us girls, but I couldn't say it--I couldn't say it because even as I thought it I knew it wasn't true. It's funny. I didn't realize until that moment the beauty of the cane. It was like a light went on and suddenly I understood something I'd only known subconsciously. I'd always been fascinated by the cane--despite my fear and deep respect. Now I knew it was not the enemy but a companion, a cherished friend. I suddenly understood that relationship. And immediately I knew I'd accept a caning from this strange unknown boy--not because I feared a worse caning from the headmistress--but because I respected the cane and the rules it held. The cane was not a toy, not a silly game. It was real and serious and adult. It demanded maturity and I would comply as was proper and just.

My eyes went to Heather and then Mary and Jessica. I saw the same truth there. We would accept these terms. As one we nodded to Jack. He snapped his fingers and a boy ran up with a long rattan cane. It was heavier and longer than the ones I was used to and I knew it would hurt. But instead of growing depressed, I felt myself becoming excited. This was going to be a memorable caning!

There was not much room amongst the trees, so Jack led our little group to a clearing about fifty yards further down the road near the outskirts of the school grounds. This took us farther from the school and away from the ears of the teachers, which somehow comforted me.

"Line up," he told us. Looking at each other soberly we stood in a row in front of the small group of half-a dozen boys. At Jack's command we bent over and reached for our ankles. Jack came up behind us. I saw he was near Heather, who was to my immediate left. I watched him flip up her skirt and expose her white panities. There were cries of excitement from the boys.

"Jack you can't!" cried Heather as she felt his fingers grabbing the edge of her underwear.

"This must be a proper caning," he said with a smirk, and woosh! down came Heather's panties. I thought she would fight it--I certainly would have protested--but Heather chewed her lip in silence.

I was next, of course, and though I wanted to argue I couldn't be less brave than Heather. I didn't say a word as my bottom was bared before the gawking audience though my face steamed with embarrassment and anger. I knew the boys could see everything, including things I'd never shown a boy before. But there was nothing I could do about it.

Jack went down the line and bared Jessica's and Mary's bottoms. Then I heard him swishing that cane around for practice. The sound made goose pimples rise all over my flesh. As I waited for the punishment to begin I thought it couldn't get any worse. I was wrong.

"What's the meaning of this outrage!" shouted a bold voice and cold fear chilled my bones. We were caught!

But the bushes parted and it was only Eric Wyler, the cheeky boy that took the caning so lightly. He was grinning like he'd a cat by the tail and he laughed at all the glares headed his direction.

"I almost thought you were going to start without me," he said with a wounded look at Jack.

Jack grinned back and it was obvious the two were good friends. "Eric! I thought you were still teasing old Masters."

Eric shook his head. "The old man's wore out. Didn't want to give him a heart attack. Poor guy couldn't wack the dust out of carpet let alone the mischief out of a boy. Besides, I wouldn't miss these lovelies for anything."

If I thought I was embarrassed before I was wrong. _Now_ I began to blush a furious red that threatened to catch the grass on fire. Just the thought of that boy two feet behind me and staring so admiringly at my naked ass sent me into quivers of delight and shame. I couldn't bear it and yet there was nothing else I could do. I wanted to run and hide but that would have been even more shameful. I wished that Jack would just hurry up and cane us.

"Lovely arses," murmured Eric over and over again as he walked up and down behind us. He stopped behind me. "Give this one a lovely stripe right heeeere," he said. "Wouldn't that be peachy?" Everyone agreed that it would, of course, and Jack said he would do it. I wondered exactly where Eric had pointed, but I didn't have long to wait.

Heather got her six first. It was routine but it wasn't dull at all. The cracks were crisp and sharp and after the second one Heather couldn't keep silent but cried out little "Ooohs" and "Ahhhs" at each stroke. I couldn't see her bottom but the audience assured me the lines were properly drawn and quite vicious. I became anxious for my own bottom.

Jack lined up behind me and drew back the cane. It whistled down and struck and for a second I felt nothing. Then the fire broke out and I yelped in surprise. I hadn't wanted to but it caught me by surprise. That rattan really bites!

I was quiter for the second, third, and for rest of the caning, even though I knew it made Jack try harder to make me cry out. He finally succeeded in making me gasp on the fifth one but I was utterly silent on the sixth. It took all my will to do it--he had no idea how difficult it was for me to remain so calm. I could tell that Eric was impressed, though, and after it was over I managed to hiss, "At least you're a little bit stronger than old Masters!" which got a laugh from the crowd and a curse from Jack. I saw Eric grinning and I thought Jack might give me an extra for cheek but Eric--my hero--stopped him.

"The girl's got spunk, Jack," he said pushing the taller boy away. "Let her go." Later, after Mary's six, I caught him winking at me during Jessica's caning and I managed a bashful smile. I felt incredibly elated. This was certainly an unusual way to make a boyfriend, but it seemed darned effective!


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 10
Tardy

(***, F/ffff, Intense, Teen slippering)

Erin and the girls miss supper. (Approximately 984 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

After the four of us were caned we had to stay bent over while the boys "inspected" Jack's handiwork. This was perhaps worse than the caning. Until that moment no boy had even seen my bare bottom and now a small crowd was huddled around my rump pointing out the cane marks and admiring the "excellent" welts.

"This one's turning purple," said one boy, and I shuddered.

"Yeah, look here at these in the crease. That's got to hurt."

"But these two cross each other--that's the worst!" There were murmurs of agreement to that.

Then the boys moved on to Heather and Mary and Jessica, and I was left alone in my misery. A shadow fell across the ground near me. I lifted my head up and craned to see who it was. My heart jumped when I saw it was Eric, his grin very friendly.

"I'm Eric," he said.

"I'm Erin."

"Erin and Eric. That's a good combination." I blushed. I had never thought of that. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. Rather foolish of you to come with Heather like that."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He laughed and knelt close to me. "How do you think we found you?" I stared at him in bewilderment. "Do you think it was an accident?" he asked.

Suddenly I understood though I didn't comprehend it at all. "You mean Heather?"

Eric nodded. "She and Jack go way back. It's a little game they play."

"A game?"

"Sure. He likes to cane her. But she doesn't like to get it alone."

I was angry then. How dare she play me the fool! I stood up. I didn't care if the boys didn't like it. They obviously had no intention of going to the head at all. I wanted to say something to Heather but then I saw Eric watching me. I liked his look. He was looking at me the way guys do to older girls.

My anger softened and I grinned impertinently at him. "Aw, who cares," I said with a broad shrug. "It's just a whacking."

He laughed at this, and his laughter warmed my heart. I felt myself drawing closer to him. I wanted to kiss him. His mouth looked so fresh and warm and inviting. I stepped forward.

A bell started ringing somewhere far off and suddenly all the boys began to scramble away. "See ya later!" shouted Eric at me, and then in a bizarre rush everyone was gone but us girls, still half-naked from our caning. We quickly pulled up our knickers and flipped down our skirts.

"Where are they off to so quick?"

Mary gasped in fear. "Supper!"

I looked at my watch. It was half past six. The boys ate at half past six; St. Esther was at six. We'd missed supper! We were sure to get it now. We all began to run back toward school as fast as we could, and still trying to be careful not be seen. Most everyone would be eating, of course, but you never knew.

I cursed the diabolical Heather for getting us into all this trouble. Just the thought of another caning across my sore bottom brought tears to my eyes. It just wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all!

We ran to our rooms first, to clean up for supper. We didn't want to appear like we'd just run in from outside. Then we made our way to the dining commons. Mrs. Tobias, one of the English teachers, caught us as we tried to enter.

"Woah, there, girls. Where have you been? Supper's over and done with."

"We were studying, Ma'am," said Heather in an astonishingly sweet and innocent voice. The woman studied her for a minute. "We didn't hear the bell, honest. But I suppose we deserve not to eat," went on Heather sadly.

"Come with me," said Mrs. Tobias. She led us to the kitchen and had us sit on some stools there. Then she had the cook warm the potatoes and ham for us, and we ate it silently and as quickly as possible.

"Now straight to bed, all four of you! No free time tonight." Sullenly, we all went off to our rooms and changed into our nightclothes. It wasn't late but Mary and I climbed into bed anyway, though we were sure Mrs. Tobias wouldn't bother checking up on us.

Mary and talked for a bit, and even giggled about Eric and the other boys. I thought about telling her about Heather, but then I didn't. I decided it really didn't make much difference. It was better she didn't know the truth.

About eight o'clock there was a knock at our door. To our surprise in came Mrs. Tobias. She was carrying a large leather slipper. "All right, girls. You know the drill. Turn around. Twelve each."

Mary and I both groaned. What little this woman knew! She probably thought twelve with the slipper was being kind, but in our condition twelve was nearly as bad as the cane!

Since Mary was closer she got it first. She whimpered and howled something terrible and I'm certain Mrs. Tobias was rather surprised--girls Mary's age rarely made such a fuss over a little slippering. When my turn came I was cooperative, and didn't yell quite as much as Mary, but I couldn't help gasp a few times as that slipper struck a particularly tender welt. Mrs. Tobias gave me six on the right cheek and then six on the left. Tears dripped down my face when she'd finished, and I quickly climbed into bed so she wouldn't see.

"Why I declare!" said the woman as she left. "Such a fuss of over a few strokes with the slipper. You two were almost as bad as the two other girls!"


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 11
Chosen

(****, f/f, Intense, Teen slippering and caning)

Erin gets a mistress. (Approximately 1,658 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Time went by and I became used to my life at St. Esther's. It wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected. Most of the girls were very friendly and I became close with a number of them. Because of the hardships of our situation we were drawn together, like prisoners under the rule of a cruel warden. And except for my initial terror of punishment I soon grew to understand and accept discipline as a matter of course. I didn't let it rule my life. There were a few girls, the very shy types, who practically refused to leave their rooms for fear they'd get in trouble. I decided early on that I would do whatever I was going to do, and if there were consequences to my actions, I'd accept them gracefully, like an adult.

This meant, of course, that I was often beaten, either by my regular teachers, by the head, or by one of the prefects. Generally these were mild slipperings or a few strokes with the cane. I did not mind, not really. I deserved everything I got. It was part of life, part of growing up.

One morning, a couple months after I'd joined the school, I awoke very early. I didn't know why I was awake--everyone was still sleeping. Then I saw Ariana, my prefect, sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me. It startled me at first. I thought she'd come to slipper me as she does once a week or so, but it was much too early for that. She looked like a ghost in the dim light. She was dressed in a white robe and her long dark hair hung down from her shoulders in shimmering waves. Her eyes gleamed.

"Come with me," she whispered.

My eyes wide with alarm and wonder, I quickly put on my bathrobe and followed the older girl. She led me downstairs and into the boiler room. Here I hesitated. I had not been here since my caning from the prefects. But there was no one in the room but me and Ariana now, so I followed her.

"Strip," she said. It was scarcely a command; more like a statement. But I felt the power behind her words. For reasons I did not know or understand I began to disrobe. In a moment I was completely naked.

Ariana had gone to a small table in one corner and pulled out a wooden chair. She motioned for me to get across her lap. In her hand was a large black slipper. With my lower lip trembling slightly and tears stinging my eyes, I obeyed, laying myself across her thighs. I was shifted far forward so I had to brace myself on the floor with my hands leaving my naked bottom thrust into the air on Ariana's lap.

"Please," I whispered. "What did I do?"

"Shhh. Be quiet," ordered Ariana. And she began to spank me. It was like no spanking I'd had in a long time. If I had to describe it I'd guess I'd say it was a loving spanking, as strange a concept as that was to me at the time. It wasn't that it was gentle or mild--it definitely hurt--but Ariana's touch was warm and comforting and made me feel secure. She often paused during the spanking to rub my bum and she talked as she whacked me, whispering soothing rhythms of words that I didn't understand but calmed me anyway.

Finally she put the slipper on the table and laid her hand on my bottom. My ass was very hot and stingy and her hand felt good. She rubbed me occasionally as she sat there, not saying anything. Slowly my panting returned to normal breathing and my tears dried up. I felt awkward lying naked across her lap like this but there was a certain naturalness about it that calmed me. My stomach felt nervous but there was a glowing warmth going through the very core of my being that felt wonderful.

"You've got a beautiful bum, do you know that?" asked Ariana.

It was a strange thing to say. "It's too big," I said, blushing, and thinking of how my hips were growing so wide it was almost embarrassing.

"Nonsense. It's very spankable like this. Whenever I see your bum I want to spank it."

I didn't know what to say to that!

"Do you like it when I spank your bum?" Ariana said.

I shook my head. Then I nodded. Then I shook my head again. "I don't know," I whispered lamely.

"Do you need more practice?"

"No!" I shouted. Realizing how loud I was I lowered my voice to normal levels. "It's just that... it feels so good right now, like it is. It's perfect, just right. My bum is nice and warm. Don't change it."

Ariana nodded and her hand did little circles on my bottom. This sent shockwaves of pleasure courses through my lower belly. "I've decided to make you my servant," said Ariana in a crisp, no-argument voice. "You will assist me in my prefect duties, do little errands for me, and so on. In general you will obey me at all times. And I will discipline you as I see fit."

Again I was speechless. I was not sure if this was what I wanted or not, but just thinking of Ariana spanking me on a regular basis sent chills through me. Slowly I nodded.

"And what do you say for this honor?"

"Thank you, Ariana."

"Good," she said. "Now, let us get your caning over with and you may begin your duties."

A lump formed in my stomach as I was slowly helped to my feet and led to the table. I watched without speaking as Ariana went to a small wooden cabinet and took out a handful of canes. She tested them, bending and swinging them. Finally she selected on and put the others back.

"It shall just be six this time," she said pleasantly, as though telling me what beautiful weather we were going to have today. "You have generally been a good girl."

I bent forward across the table, my legs slightly apart, my bum arching up to receive the cane. Ariana commented on my "excellent" positioning as she got behind me. I waited, scarcely able to breathe. A part of my brain was trying to scream out, "Run! Why in the hell are you standing there!" But I didn't listen to that part of my brain. It grew fainter and fainter and soon all I could hear was my own ragged breathing as I waited for the first stroke.

It came, a fierce corker that knocked me forward causing my full weight to be thrown onto the rickety table. The sting was astonishing, and after a moment, the deep down throb began. I gasped and blinked away the tears and held as still as I could.

Swish-CRACK! came the cane. This one was low, just above my thighs. Tears burst from my eyes unbidden and I couldn't help but let out a small yelp.

Three was just slightly above two, in the plumpest part of my bum. It hurt very much. I suddenly became very aware of my breathing, and I realized my throat was dry and sore.

Four was a diagonal. It broke me. The pain was dizzying. I began to sob and struggle against the table, quivering and trembling. I gripped the edges of the table and held on for dear life. Every instinct in me told me to get up and run, to grab my burst ass and rub, to protect it from the next stroke.

But I didn't. Though I wept and moaned, I did not run. Even when the fifth blow struck I did not run. I cried out in pain--it was another diagonal, this time in the other direction--but I did not run. I couldn't understand it at all. There was nothing to prove here. This wasn't a caning from the headmistress. I had done nothing wrong. Yet for some reason I was accepting this caning as though I deserved it, almost as though I wanted it, or even needed it.

That was it. A peace settled over me as I came to the truth. I needed it. Why, I didn't know. But I knew that I needed to feel that cane, be overwhelmed by its passion, be broken by its insatiable demands. That satisfied some inner longing that I couldn't begin to comprehend. But I accepted it. I couldn't explain it, but I could accept it as the truth that it was.

I received number six with a smile on my face. The smile became a grimace as I grunted under the impact of the blow, and for a moment I thought I would scream. Then the peak of the pain washed over me and I was free. Slowly I got up off the table and stood, trembling, scarcely daring to believe what I had just experienced. I felt like a different person. Not just changed, but completely different. It was as though there was a new person inside of me--perhaps the real me I'd never let out--and suddenly she was taking over.

I turned to Ariana, my beautiful, cruel mistress. She was watching me intently, the long cane gripped in two hands and held across her chest. She looked astonishingly beautiful, her dark eyes as black and deep and mysterious as space itself.

"Thank you," I whispered, and I meant it with every fiber of my being.

She smiled at me, and her hand went out and caressed my tear-stained cheek in a gesture that was so quick and fleeting but struck me as dumb as if she'd slapped me.

"Thank _you_," she said simply. And I knew she meant it.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 12
Birthday

(****, f/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin gets a birthday caning. (Approximately 1,521 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The weeks went by quickly. Christmas was fast approaching and everyone was in cheerful moods and chatting about going home for the holidays. It seemed like I was the only one who wasn't very excited.

I missed my family, yes. And it would be good to see my brother again. But a part of me didn't want to go. At St. Esther's I'd found a place where I could lose myself, and a friend who treated me cruelly and unfairly, but in whom I would trust my life.

Each morning I woke early and waited outside Ariana's door until she got up. (One of the priveledges of being a prefect was having your own private room.) Then I would help her dress and do her hair or anything else she needed. Any mistakes I made were paid for with the slipper across my bare bum.

During the day I had my own schedule of classes and homework, but I also was given assignments by Ariana. Sometimes I was to find some books she needed in the library, do simple classwork for her (she'd recopy it in her own hand, of course), or clean her room. These were easy things, but if I failed in these assignments--for whatever reason, even being held after class by an instructor--I got the cane in the boiler room that evening.

This both thrilled and terrified me. I'd wake up during the night dripping with sweat and crying to discover I'd only been dreaming of being caned by Ariana. It had not been real. Then I'd cry because it hadn't been real, and I'd relish whatever slippering I got the next morning.

I was rather crazy. I did not understand my emotions or motivations regarding Ariana. I only knew that whenever she looked at me in a certain way--sharp and demanding, her eyes flashing seductive fire--my belly would melt and I'd feel like I was shrinking and curling into a little ball under her gaze, tiny and insignificant, and only strokes from her cruel cane would bring me back to life.

One morning in November, I awoke with a peculiar feeling. At first I could not identify it, and then I remembered--it was my birthday. Today I turned fifteen. I went to Ariana's room brimming over with excitment, for I was young and a birthday was special to me. And Ariana had promised me a very special birthday present.

I knocked on her door softly and she told me to come in. This was unusual it itself--she always opened the door for me, as though guarding her domain. The inside of Ariana's room was dim, but I saw she was setting on her bed and holding a long narrow box with a ribbon on it. I could scarcely breathe. It was for me, I was certain of it. What filled me with joy was not the material pleasure of receiving a gift but the knowledge that the gift came from Ariana. Happily I shut the door behind me and knelt on the floor in front of my mistress.

"Good morning, Ariana."

"Good morning, Erin. Are you excited to be fifteen years old?"

I nodded fiercely.

"Good," Ariana continued. "Fifteen is a very special age. You hear all that talk about sixteen, but trust me--fifteen is when it really happens, when you become an adult _inside_, where it counts."

"Yes, Ariana," I said.

"Now I have a special present for you. First, you are excused of all your duties today. It's your birthday, so no chores."

"Thank you, Ariana," I whispered. I wanted to tell her that nothing pleased me as much as serving her, but I could tell she felt she was doing me a favor--I could not disappoint her.

"And I also have this." She handed me the box. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were pursed in a half-smile. She was hiding something, I could tell. "This is a gift of multiple parts," she said. "Opening the box is only the first."

"Oh, thank you, Ariana! You are far too kind to me. May I open it?" She nodded and I began undoing the string and shortly I had the long white box open. The inside was filled with packing paper, and it took me a moment to discover my gift buried within.

Slowly I took it out into the faint light. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly think. My hands trembled as I held it. I caressed it, feeling the smooth polished wood. It was indescribably gorgeous. I knew it was expensive, too, for canes of such workmanship are not easily crafted.

"It is beautiful," I whispered, my voice low and in awe.

Ariana was watching me intently, her eyes alert and hopeful. When I spoke she relaxed and sighed. "I was hoping you'd like it," she said. "It is yours."

My throat was dry and I swallowed hard. I had to be brave. "And the second part?" I asked.

"I believe," said Ariana with complete seriousness, "that you have a birthday spanking coming to you."

My heart melted at these words though my belly turned over. A birthday spanking! What a wonderous oxymoron that phrase is! Such a splendid contradiction.

I humbly looked down at the floor and held out the cane in my hands. "Yes, Ariana. I believe I do."

We took the long walk to the boiler room immediately. The house was still quiet and still, and we walked quietly. I carried my present, holding it near me, marveling at its strength and flexibility. Only once we were in the room with the door shut firmly behind us did we speak, and then it was only Ariana who ordered me to disrobe.

By now I was used to this. This was to be my fifth caning from Ariana, and I knew it was going to be severe. I had no idea what she had in mind, but a birthday spanking suggested a certain number and I feared that number very much.

Ariana kept me in suspense until I was bent across the tiny table and waiting for my caning. "Today you are fifteen," she said firmly, as though her saying it made it true. "Naturally you shall receive one stroke for each year of your life."

I shuddered with a strange mixture of pleasure and horror. This was feverishly exciting--I could feel every part of my body tense with alarm and anticipation. There was a warm dampness between my legs and my breathing was difficult. The room seemed fuzzy and indistinct to me, as though it did not really count. I felt like I was above and beyond all this physical reality, that it was just Ariana and I who were real, painfully real, Ariana and the long brown cane.

The caning was deliberate and severe. It was the worst caning I've ever gotten by far, even surpassing the eighteen from my father. Ariana was far more skilled. She may not have been as physically strong, but she had mastered the technique. Whereas my father practiced the brute force method, Ariana took her time and planned her strokes, laying each one with the precise force and twist of her wrist calculated to deliver the most sting for the stroke.

I was crying by the fourth and weeping by the sixth. By the tenth I thought I had never endured such agony and I broke completely, sobbing. I let myself go completely. I wept and howled and sobbed. It was an incredible release. All my tension vanished. Though there were still three strokes to go I was at peace.

Ariana paused, here, and studied my bottom. I did not care. I only took advantage of the break to catch my breath as best I could and shift my position slightly, as the table was hurting me I pressed against it so hard.

Then there was that dreadful swishing sound followed by the terrible CRACK of the cane. I gasped and writhed in overwhelming misery, tears flooding down my face. In the midst of my pain, as the cane cracked down yet again, I thought, "This is certainly a well-built, well-balanced cane!"

Then it was over and Ariana led me over to the sofa where she sat and drew me across her lap. She cooed and hushed and gently rubbed my blazing behind with her silk nightgown. The feeling was wonderful, luxurious, the smooth material cool and slick, the gentle touch breath-taking in its heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

"There, there," whispered the beautiful dark-haired girl, and when I looked up I saw that she was crying. Instantly my tears vanished.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, frightened for her.

"I am very happy, Erin. I am very happy."

I was too astonished to speak. Gradually I reached up and kissed Ariana's cheek, very softly, with much longing. She smelled wonderful. "I am too," I said calmly, rationally. "This is the best birthday present anyone has ever given me."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 13
Home for the Holidays

(***, M/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Hard to believe, but Erin's caned again. (Approximately 900 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

School was out and I was depressed. It was a crazy thought, especially from me, who'd always abhorred school. But I missed my friends, I missed the strict routine of classes and meals, and I missed Ariana. I knew I would see her again in less than a month, but to me a month seemed like a year, and even a few weeks were unbearable.

My father was pleased to see me. It sounded like the school was doing me a world of good, and he told me that he'd had good reports from the headmistress, which surprised me a little, considering I'd gotten the cane twice from her. But at St. Esther the cane was a matter of course--I suppose my behavior was considered normal by their standards.

Mum was doing well, Tommy had lots of fascinating stories from his first year at the university, and my friends were still around. I called up Donna and a few others, and at first it was exciting to hear everything that had been going on at my old school. But soon I realized that I was different. I wasn't a part of these people's lives any more: I no longer cared about Sally Mae's problems with her boyfriend Micky (with whom she'd been fighting with for over a year), or Donna's frustrations with Mrs. Dubecky, the maths teacher. Their complaints seemed shallow and petty to me now. All in all, life at home was hopelessly dull.

Even Christmas was a letdown. It was nothing like when I was little and the presents, even the littlest items, were as cherished as life itself. It wasn't that anything was bad or wrong--it was just that it was different--my values had changed, I had new friends now, and I felt out of place at home. I was growing up.

Apparently I was not completely grown up, though. The week after Christmas my father called me into his study. His expression was grim and I wondered what on earth I could have done--near as I could tell I'd been an angel since I came home.

"Please sit down, Erin," my father said. I obeyed though I made sure he saw my puzzled expression. He frowned and picked up a piece of paper off his desk.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked. I shook my head. "It's your grades from school."

"Oh."

"I'll be frank with you--they are terrible."

"Oh?"

"Yes," said my father sternly. "Perhaps your behavior is improving, but your studies are not. Look at these marks! I will not let you get away with this. I am going to punish you, and woe to you if your spring report isn't vastly improved!"

I didn't know what to say. I knew that I had been a little distracted these last couple months, but I didn't think my grades were that terrible. Slowly I got to my feet as my father fetched his cane. It was an enormous cane--very long and spritely, and memories of past canings flashed through my mind and my stomach turned queasy at the thought of the upcoming pain.

"Home again," I thought grimly, wondering why I was so disconnected with reality. Shouldn't I be weeping, begging, or running away?

But I did not disobey. Since I was wearing pants instead of a skirt, I calmly stood and removed them, placing them on the sofa. Then I bent over my father's desk and gripped the other side with my hands, bracing myself. Fortunately for my growing sense of modesty, my father let me keep my panties on. They were too thin to offer any real protection anyway.

The first stroke was not as bad as I had expected; my time at St. Esther's seemed to have done me some good. The second and third strokes were harder, but by then I was prepared for the pain. Soon it was simple endurance, not fear of the unknown. By six I had tears in my eyes and was wiggling a little. By father caned harder, and slightly faster. By the I was sweating profusely and wanted to beg him to stop, but something inside me refused. My eyes were watering like crazy but I made certain that I didn't cry.

Finally, after twelve violent, almost angry blows, my father put down the cane. I raised myself up and thanked my father for the beating. Blinking back my tears, I quickly put my jeans back on, uncomfortable as they were. I could not allow my father to see that he had hurt me. He watched me, and I could tell he was astonished at my endurance.

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Erin," he said awkwardly, going to his desk and sitting down as though he had important work interrupted by our session. "And don't forget: if your marks aren't better next term I shall give you marks of my own!"

This last was said with a bravado that felt feeble and false to me, but I did not react. "Yes, Daddy," I said. "Thank you again for the caning. I deserved it."

My father purposely looked away, studying a paper on his desk with rapt attention, but I could feel his disbelief.

"You are welcome, Peaches," was all he said.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 14
Back to School I

(***, f/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Ariana welcomes Erin back from the holiday break. (Approximately 1,059 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Never in my life had I been as excited to arrive back at school as I was that year after the holidays. It felt like I had been gone forever, and the second I saw the sign at the entrance to St. Esther I felt a warmth in my chest and it struck me: this was home. I was no longer the child of my parents--at least in the sense that I needed to live with them. Here I was on my own, making my own life. Here I was independent. Here I made my own decisions and lived with the consequences. Here I had true freedom. Here I could relax and be myself.

I greeted Madam Thornley with an enthusiasm that must have shocked her. She grinned back at me finally. "Glad to be back, eh, Miss O'Grady?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said. "I never realized how boring home was. I thought I missed my old friends but it seems they have gotten along without me."

"Aye, it happens that way, child. The world does not stop and wait for one person. Welcome back. I'm glad you're here."

She gave me a monstrous hug at that point, nearly choking the life out of me. But I didn't care. I knew she was a good person, though stern, and I admired her spirit and honestly.

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'm going to my room now."

Upstairs, I put my belongings away and sat on my bed. There were few students back yet, so I was mostly alone, though every down and then someone poked a head in to say "hullo." It felt good to be here, warm and pleasant. I roamed the halls for a bit, enjoying the familiar feel of the walls, the odd smells that had bothered me initially but now were as much a part of me as they were of St. Esther's School for Girls.

Back in my room I unpacked. I had left most of my things at the school, locked in my dresser, and as I opened it I saw my birthday cane lying there. Without thinking I picked it up, admiring its color, its weight, its suppleness. As usual when seeing a cane, I could not help but imagine its touch. My bum was only slightly sore from my father's caning several days ago. The marks were mostly gone. I have discovered that I heal quickly, almost too quickly.

There was a sound behind me and I turned, a sudden chill running through me when I realized that whoever it was had seen me holding the cane. Blushing, I looked up and then broke into a wide smile.

"Ariana!" I cried out. I dropped the cane and ran to her, hugging and kissing her cheek. She glared at me fiercely, but I could see a smile struggling to escape the corners of her lips.

"Erin," she said. "Bring your cane and follow me."

My heart faltered. "But--"

Ariana's head whipped back and her eyes snapped fire at me. "Erin! Do what I said immediately, or I will double your punishment. I will be in the boiler room."

Then she was gone. I could still smell her sweet aroma. It had been so long since I had seen her! How could she be so cruel? She did not even say hello or welcome back.

It was with an angry and bitter heart that I marched down to the boiler room. Without a word I handed the cane to Ariana. She took it, flexed it, and swished it through the air a few times. I did not move. She came to me then, studying me carefully. I stared straight ahead and refused to look at her.

"Your uniform is a disgrace!" she scolded. "Look at your stockings--they are of different lengths. And dirty, too, if I don't miss my guess. Your skirt is crooked, your tie too loose. Oh! What's this? Is this a stain? How dare you!"

I did not move but swallowed painfully. She was right. I had rushed from the train to the school without a thought of proper dress. One of the lessons of St. Esther was that a girl represented the school when she was out in public--I deserved to be flogged for such a display of careless attire.

"I am sorry, Ariana," I said softly. "I will be punished."

"Yes, you are about to punished. How many strokes shall it be?"

This was new. I had never been given a choice before. I thought for a second and said tentatively, "Six?"

"Ah, six is the normal punishment, my dear Erin. Doesn't this deserve something extra? For your arrogance?"

I wasn't sure what arrogance she was referring to, but I did not argue. "Ten, then," I said, knowing that ten from Ariana would be much worse than the dozen so recently from my father.

"Very well," said the girl, and proceeded to cane me. It was a most thorough thrashing. My panties were down around my ankles and the thick cane left what felt like a score of welts across my arse. I was weeping by the half. There was something overwhelming in Ariana's canings that always broke me. I don't know if it was her attitude or her technique, but I never received a caning from her without breaking down into uncontrollable sobs and shudders.

When she had finished she bade me to stand and then she caressed my bum a little, and kissed away my tears. "There there," she whispered. "Everything is fine now. You are forgiven. Everything is back to normal again. You are safe. You are with me."

Ariana's words did not comfort me but sent me into a wail of tears and loud sobbing. I threw my arms around her and held her tight. "I-I missed you," I finally managed. "I missed you all the holidays."

"I know," she said. Her smile was soft and gentle. "Don't you feel better now?"

I nodded, a deep sigh emerging from the depths of my being. I did indeed feel better. It was an incredible release to be home again, to feel Ariana's stern control, her gentle touch, her loving embrace.

"Thank you," I whispered. But the words felt completely inadequate.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 15
Back to School II

(***, F/f, Intense, Teen slippering and caning)

Erin learns she's back at school. (Approximately 756 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The memories of schoolchildren are short. It seemed especially so in my case. Just a few weeks of being gone for the holidays and I'd forgotten all the lessons of the first term.

I awoke early on Monday, the first school day of the new year. I raced to Ariana's quarters to assist her, and she reminded me of my position with a dozen of the slipper on each cheek. She did it on the bare, slowly and deliberately, with me stretched out flat upon her bed. I went to breakfast with my bum stinging and sore, and that was just the beginning.

In Miss Shlemple's class I was twice reprimanded for whispering to my friend Lenora, who I hadn't had a chance to talk to yet since returning from the break. Miss Shlemple glared at me once, then verbally told me off, and finally, when I still hadn't gotten the message, ordered me to the front of the room.

As I nervously made my way toward her desk she opened a drawer and took out a large plimosol. Terrific. More slippering. At her command I bent across her desk with my arse pointed at the class. She lifted my skirt and began a thorough walloping of my bottom. My regulation panties might have protected my bottom from prying eyes, but they did nothing to protect me from the fierce sting of that leather shoe!

After six on each cheek I was fidgeting and my eyes were watering. "Thank you, Ma'am," I said when she'd finished. I started to rise.

"Did I say I was done?" she cried. "Get back in position!" With that she gave me two gratuitous smacks that made me jump.

"Ooh, please, Ma'am!"

"Be silent," she ordered, and proceeded to deliver a sound spanking to the backs of my legs. This stung terribly, and I began to grunt and even yelp at the blows. My bare thighs were so sensitive it felt like she was pressing hot coals against my skin. I could not stop from crying, at least a little bit.

"There, that does it. You may return to your seat, Miss O'Grady. I hope you have learned your lesson."

"Yes, Miss."

Sniffling, I made my way back to my chair dreading the thought of sitting on my sore bum. My legs and bottom burned. I was miserable.

My next class came and went, and lunch passed more or less uneventfully. But later, I ran into Mrs. Wizler. Not literally, of course, but I could have. I was late for history and she caught me running. Now the normal punishment for running indoors is lines, or perhaps the slipper. When Mrs. Wizler dragged me by the ear to her office this was what I expected, and I wasn't happy about it. My bottom was already well slippered and more just did not fit into my plans.

But Mrs. Wizler did not fetch the slipper--she fetched the cane! Horror of horrors, I was to be caned! I watched her in total astonishment as she came forward, bending the cane almost in half.

"Over the desk," she ordered. "And take down your knickers."

Oh, I was to be caned and on the bare! How could it get any worse?

"Hmmm," said Mrs. Wizler, making it worse, "you seem to have been the recipient of discipline previously today. I am not surprised. I had planned to give you four, but since you seem to be in need of a stern reminder that you are at school and no longer on vacation, it shall be six."

Then came the dreadful swish-CRACK that always chilled me. Again and again, hot lines of searing flame across my naked arse. I yelped and pleaded and finally wept. It really really hurt and at first I was very angry because I didn't feel I deserved the cane for simply running down a corridor. But soon, after the fourth stroke, I felt my fear leave me. The pain had peaked and I relaxed slightly. I realized that indeed, Mrs. Wizler was correct--I was a school now, and caning was a part of school. "You shall simply have to learn to accept it," I told myself.

When it was done, Mrs. Wizler put away the cane and came to me, still bent across the desk, and kissed my forehead. "Welcome home," she said, and I sighed deeply and nodded. It felt good to be home.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 16
Riding Lessons I

(***, F/f, Intense, Teen cropping)

Erin meets Miss Arler. (Approximately 1,967 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

School soon settled into a familiar routine. There were studies and tests, adventures with friends, and a growing interest in the opposite sex. There was naughtiness and consequences, and much learning and growing up. I was comfortable and content. At the time I rarely thought of my life as routine, especially the discipline--only looking back from years of perspective do I see the obvious pattern and how it comforted me.

In spring there was a change. It seemed a minor nuisance at first, an interference in my life. But quickly it became a significant landmark in the map of my childhood.

The change was this: my father enrolled me to take riding lessons. Several other girls were also required to go, as this was a special program offered by the school, and so every Saturday for four months a small group of us trudged off to the riding stables about two miles north of St. Esther to spend the morning learning to ride.

I was somewhat excited. Being a city girl I had never had the opportunity to ride and I had often begged by father to let me go. My problem at this juncture was the timing; I was satisfied with my life as it was. I felt threatened by any change, even a potentially positive one.

My reluctance changed to joy, however, upon learning that my mistress and "personal prefect" Ariana was also to take lessons. We both were up early the first Saturday, and dressed ourselves in our splendid new riding outfits our fathers had purchased and sent to the school. We wore leather riding boots, tan riding pants that hugged our bodies delightfully, and snow-white blouses with long sleeves and frilly colors. We loved them and spent a good half hour parading in front of Ariana's long mirror admiring ourselves, though of course I was concerned about how the pants accented my large bottom, a portion of my anatomy I've always been a bit subconscious about.

I think that's why we were late. The other girls had gathered by the front door and were growing frantic. "Were have you been?" asked Julie, a thin redheaded girl who was renowned for her nervousness. "We mustn't be late for our first lesson!"

"Yeah," added Monica, the youngest of our group. "I've heard that the riding instructor is very strict." Her eyes were wide with alarm as she said this, and Ariana and glanced at each other and giggled.

"Don't be a baby," Ariana said gruffly to the girl. "If we run we'll make it on time. Besides, I know a shortcut."

Ariana's shortcut did indeed save us distance, but not time. It was through an empty field, across a small stream, up a hill, through a thick grove of trees and bramble, and finally, back to the main road. The riding stables were just a quarter mile away, but we were an exhausted, raggedy bunch at this point, our new clothes scuffed and stained, our boots dirty, our hair loose and coming undone, and our faces drenched with sweat. We arrived at the stables ten minutes late, panting and breathless.

Our riding instructor was waiting, and she was not pleased. From the first moment I saw her I was enthralled. She was stunningly beautiful. She was tall and thin, and graceful as a cat. She stood before us dressed in an elegant riding outfit similar to our own, but on her the tight-fitting pants seemed far more shapely and attractive, almost constraining the swelling of her hips. She wore a vest, too, which seemed to hug and shape the large mounds of her breasts, and I felt a twinge of guilt at my own overly large breasts that bobbed within my blouse.

She stood bold and stern before us, her lips grim but her eyes soft and gentle. An enormous black riding crop was gripped her right hand and crossing in front of her chest, the tip resting in the palm of her left hand. She tapped this as she stared at us, slowly passing her eyes over each of us, carefully appraising and evaluating her new students.

Her hair was a breath-taking platinum, obviously long, but done up in a tight bun behind her head. A few random strands were loose and curled around the sides of her face giving her a slightly wild appearance.

Oh, how can I describe her face? It changed as often as her mood. Her face had been carved from ice: a sharp, rigid nose, thin lips that usually were pursed into a stern frown, a slightly curved chin that softened her angular features and made her seem a touch friendlier. Her large eyes were a deep blue that was all the stronger in contrast with her pale skin.

But the truly astonishing thing about Miss Arler was not her physical beauty, as charming as that was--it was her attitude. She was at once commanding and stern, and yet she had a friendly, youthful demeanor that was almost a complete contradiction. Even when she disciplined us girls she seemed to being enjoying life, to be having fun.

Understand that I saw all this in Miss Arler within the first few seconds of meeting her--and I was astonished, both at her remarkable character and at my own perception. I'd never before noticed how well I sized up people on first meeting. Yet my very first thought upon seeing this awesome woman was the realization: "She's _amused_ that we are late!" This struck me as surprising, for in my entire life I had yet to meet anyone in authority who was pleased when I misbehaved.

"Welcome," was her first word, and her voice was as graceful as a song, but as determined as a bullet. She spoke in short precise sentences, every word designed for meaning with no excess. I felt a chill pass through me as her eyes briefly caught mine.

"My name is Miss Arler. I am to be your riding instructor for the next several months. I take no nonsense and I offer none. You children are tardy and filthy. You shall be punished. One by one step forward and tell me your name."

"Shelly Todler," said the girl on the far end, after Miss Arler glanced at her expectantly. She stepped forward and bowed slightly.

"Touch your toes, Shelly."

Shelly's pink mouth opened slightly in surprise and she hesitated, tears springing to her eyes, and then obeyed, clutching at her ankles. Her riding pants gripped her arse tightly and presented to the world two globes of silky smooth flesh. Miss Arler did not waste a second but immediately brought her crop across those cheeks.

I was half-expecting the loud CRACK of a cane, but the crop was a muted _thwack_. From Shelly's sharp intake of breath, however, the crop was certainly effective. Again it struck, and again. On the four blow Shelly began to cry, a loud blubbering moan that was embarrassing to listen to. I resolved at that moment that no matter how much the crop hurt, I would not make such a fool of myself.

After the sixth stroke Miss Arler told Shelly to straighten up and stop her whining. She waited for the next girl. Finally, after a fierce glare from Miss Arler, Julie stepped forward.

"J-Julie M-Monroe," she whispered hoarsely, and began to cry. I was pleased to note that Miss Arler did not react at all to the redhead's silly performance but cropped her quickly and thoroughly without any hesitation.

"Ariana Richards."

I watched as my friend bent over, her smooth bottom so vulnerably displayed. I realized with a shock I'd never seen Ariana punished before, and I grinned and determined to enjoy it. Ariana never made a sound during her entire cropping, but calmly took each stroke with scarcely and lift of her head. When it was done she stood, her movements stiff, and thanked the riding instructor for the lesson. Miss Arler was pleased.

"Erin O'Grady," I said bravely, stepping forward and immediately grabbing my ankles. I blushed with shame at my exposure but I felt a wonderful warmth in my belly as I saw that Miss Arler was pleased with me. She did not speak but simply cropped, lifting that leather instrument high above her shoulder and striking me with such force I nearly fell forward. A fierce stinging attacked my bum overwhelming me for a few seconds. It wasn't as deep and bruising as the heavy wooden cane, but the stinging was worse.

Unlike a caning, Miss Arler did not wait for the first blow to fully sink in before giving the next. I had noticed this with the others and it had pleased me, because it meant the punishment was over quickly, but now as I experienced this technique I discovered that the intensity of pain coming in such rapid succession almost broke down my will to resist. By stroke number four I was in such acute agony that when the fifth hit I cried out in pain. I bit my tongue during the sixth to keep from screaming, and stood silently, tears dripping down my cheeks.

Miss Arler was eying me intently, and I saw the corners of her lips curling slightly with satisfaction. She had broken me and knew it, though she said nothing. I went back to my place in line with my heart thumping loudly and wondering why the woman's gaze affected me so.

Monica was the last girl to be punished. Though only thirteen, she made less fuss than Julie. She did cry out loud, however, though I noticed that Miss Arler was gentler with her strokes.

After we'd all been punished, Miss Arler took us on a tour of the stables. We learned with sadness that we wouldn't actually get to ride this first day-our initial lessons would consist of learning to care for our horses and equipment. As Miss Arler lectured us on various aspects of equestrianism, it was obvious she knew her subject well and loved horses passionately.

Miss Arler emphasized safety a great deal, explaining that riding a horse was nothing like riding a bicycle. "You must remember at all times that you have living animal underneath you," she said. "Animals are often unpredictable. _You_ must be prepared for that. If there is a riding accident it is _always_ the rider's fault, never the horse, for it is the rider's job to understand the animal and prepare for any unusual behavior."

Near the end of the lesson each of us were allowed to select a horse of our own for the duration of the lessons, and it would be our responsibility to prepare and care for the horse before and after each day's lesson. I found a beautiful dusky mare that was very friendly, nuzzling me and almost begging me to ride her. Her name was Dusty.

Ariana chose a huge Arabian stallion named Whirlwind, and I could see Miss Arler was shocked and a little worried at such a selection for a first-time rider, but Ariana showed her how the horse instinctively obeyed her, fearlessly climbing into his stall and leading him in a circle without even a bridle to guide him with. The instructor finally consented to the match, and Ariana was thrilled.

The other girls made their selections and everything was written down in a large black notebook in the main office of the stables, and we were promised our choices would be ready the following Saturday. We left shortly after twelve thirty, elated by our interesting morning and the exciting prospects ahead in our future. Our memories of the cropping had faded into nothing but a minor inconvinence.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 17
Riding Lessons II

(***, F/f, Intense, Teen cropping)

More adventures with Miss Arler. (Approximately 1,590 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

If I had thought my first cropping from Miss Arler was to be my last, I was sorely mistaken. Soon I was to learn first-hand that the rumors were true: Miss Arler always carried her riding crop but no one had ever seen her use it on a horse.

On our second Saturday riding session, we arrived a full fifteen minutes early and we made certain our outfits were spotless. Miss Arler greeted us and we all breathed a sigh of relief when she said our clothing passed inspection. We quickly followed her to the stables where we each found our horse and prepared for riding.

After we had saddled and bridled our horses, Miss Arler inspected our work. Unfortunately two of our group made critical errors: Shelly did not cinch her saddle tightly enough, and I had gotten a couple pieces of the leather equipment in the wrong positions. It was still more or less functional, but I had forgotten my instructions from the previous week. As I reminder, Miss Arler gave Shelly and I four strokes from her crop.

So it was that I began my first riding experience with a slightly sore and stinging bottom. Not an auspicious beginning.

We rode into the countryside, through empty fields and into the hills. It was a beautiful spring day, slightly cool but with blue sky of large puffy white clouds drifting overhead. The fresh country air was wonderful, and all of us girls were delighted.

When we'd reached a small stream Miss Arler had us dismount and offer our horses some water. This wasn't so much because they needed it as it was to give us practice caring for our animals and mounting and dismounting. Shortly after this we reached a flat field and Miss Arler began to teach us the different walks of the horse, from trot to canter. (She saved gallop for later.)

After instructing us, we each got to practice a bit, riding our horses around, learning to guide and instruct them. She rode around in the midst of us, watching and calling out suggestions or instructions when she saw problems. After a half hour of this she called us together and had each of us, one by one, put our horse through its paces.

Ariana went first and her stallion performed perfectly, obeying every soothing command from her voice. Next was Julie, and she had troubles. She hesitated too much, and as a consequence the horse also hesitated. Miss Arler was not pleased. Shelly was better, but she nearly fell off the horse during the canter, and Miss Arler had to ride off after her in case she needed assistance.

I was next, and nervous as a mother hen. Everyone was watching me. Though I'd performed the same routine just moments earlier on my own, I now discovered my speech was hesitant and overly-cautious. Growing angry at my weakness, I blocked my mind of other things and concentrated on my horse, Dusty.

In the short time we'd known each other I'd grown very fond of Dusty. She was a wonderful horse, strong and intelligent, and very friendly. I had already learned how to interpret various signals from her, and I knew she'd have lots to teach me. (This is one of the truths Miss Arler taught us: horses teach you how to ride, not you teaching the horse how to be ridden. As she put it, "The horse already knows how to walk.")

Thinking of Dusty, I patted her neck and whispered to her until I saw her ears prick up and I knew she was listening. Quietly and calmly I gave her a whispered command and a soft nudge with my heels. Instantly she began to walk. Soon it was a bumpy trot, and then a rapid canter. When I finished, I circled around and rode up to Miss Arler. She was smiling broadly and I grinned back, my smile threatening to split my face I was so happy.

"Excellent job, Erin," she said.

I blushed and looked down at my horse, rubbing her neck. "It was Dusty, not me." Miss Arler seemed pleased by my comment, but she was already issues orders for Monica to ride.

Monica also had problems. She was not a very skilled rider, I saw, trying to control her horse by sheer loudness of voice and anger instead of convincing the horse to obey. She got her mare to walk and trot, but instead of cantering, the horse came to complete stop. Monica burst into tears and cursed the horse. Miss Arler approached her and though her appearance scarcely changed I could tell she was livid. She ordered Monica to dismount and promptly gave her girl six strokes from her crop. This really made Monica cry but the stern riding instructor seemed to have no compassion for the girl.

Miss Arler asked for Julie to dismount, and gave her four strokes with the crop for her failure to complete the assignment properly. I expected that was it, but Miss Arler had each of the girls mount up and she walked them each, one by one, through the steps again. It took nearly a half hour, but we did not leave the glen until both girls could guide their horses perfectly.

I was amazed at Miss Arler's mixture of stern correction and gentle guidance. It was obvious while she was teaching that she cared for Monica and Julie, and yet just moments earlier she had been thrashing them soundly. It gave me much to think about.

We rode back to the stables via a different route, and it was during this ride I made my mistake. We had to descend a large hill and the going was quite steep. The horses wanted to run but Miss Arler had made it very clear that we were to walk our horses or face the wrath of her crop.

Monica, still used to her mount, could not prevent her horse from going into a trot. The more she tried to stop it, the more the mare resisted. Finally, the horse took all initiative and went her own way, riding under a tree with low branches causing Monica to fall off! The girl was terrified and frantic, and though I'm ashamed to admit it, I could not help laughing at her predicament. I laughed loudly and openly, even pointing at the girl to the others. I soon stopped, however, when I realized no one else was laughing.

Miss Arler rode up behind me and glared at me. "Get off your horse and help her. She could be seriously hurt!"

I obeyed, stung by her rebuke, and went to Monica. She wasn't hurt, of course. The ground was as soft as a bed. But the brush-off had frightened her very much. At first she refused to get back on her horse, but Miss Arler talked with her and eventually she agreed.

Miss Arler took out her crop then and pointed at me. "Get in position," she commanded. I thought the woman must have meant Monica, who was standing right next to me, so I didn't move.

"Erin? Are you listening to me?"

"Me? But Ma'am!" I was shocked.

"You now have two extras. Would you like to go for ten?"

I shook my head and got into position, gripping my boots. My face burned with shame as Miss Arler berated me for being so callous as to giggle at another rider's misfortune.

"This is not a game," she said sternly. "Monica could have easily been injured. It could have been you in her position. Falling off a horse happens to everyone sooner or later, and I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate it if others laughed at you when you took a dive."

"No, Ma'am," I said guiltily, feeling awful for what I'd done. There was no more talk but the swish of the crop and the quiet _thwack_ as it struck my tightly presented bottom. Again and again it came down, very hard, I cried bitter tears and gasped at the fierce sting. She cropped me very low on my bottom, just above my thighs, keeping all of the blows in that same areas. It was excrutiating. I was humilated and humbled, and I thanked Miss Arler and sincerely begged Monica to forgive me the second the whipping was finished. Monica shrugged and gave me a hug.

We rode back to the stables in near silence after that, the ride most uncomfortable for me. Miss Arler had placed the blows well--there was no position in the saddle that provided me with relief from my sore bum. During a flat stretch Miss Arler urged everyone into a trot, the most awkward gait of the horse, and as I bounced up and down I would swear she glanced at me with a soft smile of satisfaction on her face. She had ordered the trot on purpose, knowing exactly how it would make me feel!

I was angry at this. How could she treat me so cruelly? But when we were in the stables Miss Arler came and spoke to me in a whisper. She said, "Wasn't that ride delightful, dear?" And she gave me a broad wink and patted my sore behind with her hand. I blushed crimson and glanced around but no one had seen. When I turned back around, the woman was off helping Julie. I immediately decided this woman needed watching.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 18
Ariana Misbehaves

(***, F/f, Severe, Teen cropping)

Ariana gets the crop. (Approximately 1,128 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Soon the weekly riding lesson became the highlight of my week. It was enjoyable and we learned a great deal. Miss Arler fascinated and confused me, with her signals of friendship and strict discipline which I nearly always received. One Saturday I managed (for the first time) to escape a cropping altogether. One the way home I was depressed and quiet, yet I could not figure out why. It wasn't until later that evening I realized with a shock that I was sad because I hadn't been cropped by Miss Arler! I somehow felt neglected and betrayed.

A little after a month into our lessons, Ariana finally made her mistake. Previous to this she had been the model student. Her knack for riding was almost uncanny, and she handled her large stallion with an ease that impressed even Miss Arler.

This was also her downfall, however.

While we were readying the horses for a ride into the countryside, we saw another group of riders setting up an obstacle course within a field near the stables. As we watched they began to ride the course, jumping hurdles and small water boxes. When Ariana saw this she was entranced and immediately wanted to try it.

"Absolutely not!" said Miss Arler without any hesitation. "It's very dangerous. You have a great deal to learn before you can jump like that."

Ariana pouted a bit, but didn't say anything. Only I, who knew her so well, saw the beginnings of trouble. I even whispered to her think before she acted, but she only glared at me and told me to mind my own business or she'd give me a reminder over her lap. I didn't say anything more.

As we were becoming better equestrians, Miss Arler gave us more and more freedom. When we rode, for instance, we were often allowed to go on ahead while she instructed one or two riders one-on-one. This day Ariana took advantage of this and rode off. I raced after her, concerned with what she had in mind.

Sure enough, she had trouble planned. As soon as we were out of sight of the rest of the group, Ariana took off into the woods, a different path than we were supposed to follow. The sign marking the path read "Advanced Riders Only" and I rode after her, calling to her that she was making a mistake. She did not listen.

This other path wasn't flat and easy like the normal road we took. This one weaved around through the woods with many low-hanging branches and occasional trunks lying across the way. These Ariana skillfully guided her horse to leap over, and Whirlwind flew through the air with a grace and beauty that was wonderful to watch. I tried to follow but Dusty could feel my fear and lack of confidence and balked at the jumps. I was forced to stop and let Ariana go off on her own. I rode back and took the normal route, arriving before anyone else, and Arriana showed up minutes later, panting with exertion and grinning from ear to ear.

"That was incredible!" she breathed. "Whirlwind is a natural." She rubbed the side of his neck as she spoke, and whispered encouraging words to him. The horse was also breathing heavily, and I saw little flecks of white around his jaw.

I was shocked at Ariana's behavior. It struck me as very dangerous. To ride any unknown path, especially one so rough, with such rapid speed seemed madness, and I shook my head and prepared to scold my mistress. But before I could open my mouth Miss Arler and the others showed up.

"Have a pleasant ride?" she asked me, but strangely, her eyes were fixed on Ariana.

"Yes, Ma'am," said Ariana politely.

"Didn't strain your horse, did you? He looks a bit winded."

"No, Ma'am. He's fine. We just galloped a bit, that's all."

Miss Arler frowned at this and she rode over to Ariana. Their eyes locked and electricity seemed to snap through the air. Everyone grew quiet and watched with bated breath.

"Are you really going to lie to me?" the instructor asked Ariana. The girl's calm expression did not change.

"I'm not lying."

"Of course you are, girl. I saw the tracks. You took the advanced path, didn't you?"

At this Ariana's confidence seemed shaken. She glanced at me as though I had betrayed her somehow, and then she shrugged and sighed. "Yes, Ma'am. I wanted to jump Whirlwind."

"Didn't I just tell you _not_ to try that?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Get off your horse." The words were sharp and biting, and brooked no argument.

Her face burning, Ariana dismounted neatly and assumed the position. Miss Arler carefully descended from her horse and approached the bent-over girl, the long riding crop firmly gripped in her right hand.

As usual, she did not waste time or words, but simply thrashed poor Ariana. Stroke after stroke felt. Six, eight, twelve, fifteen. And still they came down. Ariana struggled, tears trickled down her cheeks, she moaned once, and grunted a couple of times at severe blows. Her shapely bottom looked the same as when the cropping had begun but I knew from experience that those riding pants offered no protection at all. At twenty strokes Miss Arler stopped.

"Have you learned your lesson, young lady?"

Through gritted teeth came the response: "Y-yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Then get on your horse and ride back to the stables. Your lessons are over for the day. I want you waiting for me when we return and I will finish your punishment then."

"But Ma'am--" began Ariana, her face a bright red, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing her riding privileges.

"Not another word!"

Silently Ariana left us, riding awkwardly as she attempted to find a comfortable position on her saddle. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she'd take the correct path back.

A stillness filled the air after Ariana was gone, and for the lesson that day the group was somber and subdued.

Hours later, when we returned to the stables, we found Ariana energetically sweeping and cleaning out the stalls. She'd obviously been hard at work, though I saw from her humble expression that she did this more to keep busy than to gain favor with Miss Arler. I could see that the instructor was pleased, however.

Miss Arler and Ariana disappeared into the instructor's office while we watered and fed our horses, and put away our saddles and other equipment. When Ariana reappeared, her eyes were red as though she'd been crying, but she did not say anything. We all walked home in silence.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 19
Vengeance

(***, F/f, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin gets a severe caning. (Approximately 455 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

As soon as Ariana and I were alone, I approached her on the subject of Miss Arler. "What did she say to you?" I whispered in a confidential tone. Ariana glared at me.

"It's none of your bloody business."

"Well, I told you not to take that path." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wished I'd bitten my tongue. Ariana's eyes flashed real anger and she pounced on me, pressing me against the wall.

"Listen here you Little Miss Perfect, I don't need to be reminded about what I should or shouldn't do! That's like the pot calling the kettle black, anyway. I ought to take your downstairs and give you the caning of a lifetime. Fact is, let's just do that!"

"But Ariana-"

Before I could say more I was being dragged downstairs to the boiler room. It was late afternoon and most of the girls were studying or out-of-doors. We had privacy within the room. Ariana pushed me toward the table in the corner and quickly fetched a cane from the prefect's stash.

Like a good girl I pulled down my knickers and bent over the table, ready for my caning. My eyes stung and I had a bitter taste in my mouth. This wasn't fair at all! _She'd_ been the one to get in trouble and now I'm getting the rap for it. Literally.

Ariana flipped up my skirt to expose my bare rump and stepped back. I knew she was angry and this caning would not be an easy one. The first stroke took my breath away. The second came immediately thereafter, with no time to breath, and then the third and fourth. By the fifth I was crying, and the sixth made me cry out.

"Please, Ariana," I sobbed. "Not so hard!"

But Ariana was not be held back. She whacked me a full ten strokes and any one of them would have done the headmistress proud. My arse was covered with tram lines when it was over, and Ariana made me go stand in the corner for fifteen minutes with my dress held up.

Afterwards she approached me, her hands caressing my shoulders. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Sore, but I'll live. You didn't have to be so brutal."

"No, I didn't."

Somehow her acknowledgement of that fact comforted me, though she had made no apology. I turned and hugged her then, and she kissed my cheek. "I think I shall obey Miss Arler from now on," she said softly, a bit ruefully, and then she grinned impishly. I laughed and in a moment we were giggling, all our differences were forgotten.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 20
Private Lessons

(***, F/f, Severe, Teen cropping, spanking, and caning)

Erin meets Miss Arler in private. (Approximately 1,312 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My curiosity regarding Ariana's private session with Miss Arler in her office was never directly satisfied by Ariana herself. She refused to speak about it, and threatened me with a caning if I persisted. A few Saturday's later, however, I became an intimate acquaintance with Miss Arler's office techniques, though I cannot say if they were the same she used with Ariana.

We'd gone riding as usual, and other than a few minor mistakes and mishaps requiring Julie and Monica to bend over for the crop, nothing unusual had happened. I, for once, had escaped the crop. But after we'd stabled the horses and were preparing to return to St. Esther, Miss Arler asked me to remain behind.

"Please go to my office and wait for me," she said. I was greatly puzzled for as near as I could tell I'd done nothing wrong, but I decided not to worry about it. Ariana and the others left without me, and I went to Miss Arler's office.

It was a small room off the main lobby of the ranch. It was sparsely decorated, though there were a number of riding trophies on the mantle. A single bookshelf crammed with well-worn volumes adored one wall, and a small writing desk and a sofa were the only pieces of furniture in the room. As I shut the door behind me I noticed with a shiver that hanging on pegs on the back of the door were a number of leather crops and whips, and a long white cane.

Miss Arler didn't enter right away. I was forced to wait almost twenty minutes before she arrived, and it seemed like hours. I stood politely when she entered, but she barely glanced at me, going straight to her desk and seating herself in the large swivel chair on the other side.

"How do you like riding?" she asked in a pleasant, conversational tone.

"Very much, Ma'am. I am learning a great deal."

"Good. You would like to continue your lessons, then?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Have I done something wrong?"

Miss Arler smiled. "Not exactly. But I do sense a bit of a cheeky attitude in you. I seem to have to punish you regularly."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'll try to do better."

"I'm sure you will. But in the meantime I thought we'd experiment with a little discipline here in private, just the two of us."

So I was in trouble. My bottom began to tingle as I thought of that crop connecting with it at high velocity yet again. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Which do you prefer to start: the cane or the crop?"

Hmmm. This was a puzzle. The crop stung more but the marks faded quicker, meaning I'd suffer less in the long run. "The crop, Ma'am."

"Very well. You know the position."

I obediently grasped my ankles and waited as she stepped up behind me. The first few strokes were hard and fast but I bore them well. As the punishment continued, however, I began to fidget. After ten strokes the woman showed no sign of slowing or stopping. I was growing nervous and tears were stinging my eyes. My bottom throbbed in countless places and each new blow brought out a slight cry from me.

"Settle down, now, Erin. We have a long ways to go."

"But Ma'am!" I gasped. "That's twelve. How many more do I have to take?"

Miss Arler laughed, a light tinkle like you hear from a distance at a party. "Oh, but Erin, a punishment is not much of a punishment if you know how much to expect. The mystery is in not knowing. Perhaps this is the last stroke. Perhaps we are only half-way done, or even just beginning. You do not know and that enhances the punishment."

I groaned loudly as the crop caught me again and again. I began to weep, writhing and begging for mercy, promising anything if she'd only have mercy. But it was as though I had never spoken. A full two dozen were my merit, and Miss Arler did not hold back on any of them.

When she finished she pressed her spread palm across my right buttock and gripped it tightly, causing me to gasp in pain and surprise. "Nice and warm," she said in a pleased voice, and switching her hand to my other cheek she confirmed that it too was well-punished.

I thought that was it and started to turn and rise when Miss Arler stopped me. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"A-aren't we finished, Ma'am?"

"We most certainly are not! We still have the cane to come and no punishment session is complete without a long bare bottom spanking across my lap."

"Miss Arler!" I cried out in terror, my expression incredulous.

"Come to the sofa and lie across my lap."

Well, anything had to be better than that crop. I obeyed, though my bottom felt well-scorched and I resented further punishment for what seemed to me like no reason whatsoever.

Miss Arler spanked me with her hand, and though one would think it wouldn't hurt very much to a fifteen-year-old girl used to sound canings, it did indeed hurt. I was still wearing my skin-tight ridding pants up to this point, but after two dozen firm slaps to my bum the lady instructed me to stand and strip completely and get back over her lap.

Tears wetting my eyes, I stripped off all my clothes: boots, pants, panties, blouse, bra, everything. Completely nude I settled back across her lap, wondering how my bottom must look. Miss Arler fondled my bottom a bit before beginning to spank me, and this time I suddenly realized either she had been going easy on me before or the riding pants helped numb the sting more than I had known. This spanking was agonizing. Long, hard, and very loud, it struck terror into my soul. I howled and cried like a wild woman. I could not control myself. Miss Arler had to use her left hand to hold my right arm behind my back so it wouldn't get in her way.

Then I lay sobbing, Miss Arler's palm resting quietly on my steaming bottom. "Have you had enough?"

"YES!" I howled.

"Yes, what!" Two slaps accompanied her words and I yelped.

"Yes, Ma'am I've had enough!"

"Good. You ought to be spanked like this every day, you naughty girl! But you've had enough spanking for now. I think we can finish this up with the cane."

By this point I was too exhausted to argue. I stood, naked, and watched the elegant woman go to the back of the door and take down the white cane. Her hips swayed gracefully as she walked, her round firm bottom gloriously displayed in every intricate detail through the tight riding pants she wore. I suddenly longed to take the crop to _her_ bottom, to see how she'd like it.

Trembling, I obeyed the woman and got on my knees on the sofa, my sore buttocks exposed behind me. Before I could prepare myself there was a swish followed by a dreadful CRACK and a thick line of pain burned itself across my arse.

Tears burst from my eyes and I gripped the sofa back with all my strength. Shudders went through my body. Again the cane cracked across my hind end and I screamed. Welts and stings flooded through me. My bottom throbbed. I could not stop weeping.

I got six of the best from Miss Arler, and the marks were still there the following Saturday, though they'd faded considerably.

"That will be all, Erin," she said when she finished.

"T-thank you, Ma'am," I blurted out. "I'm sorry I'm such a problem."

Her smile was like the sun. "No trouble at all."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 21
Miss Arler

(*****, F/f, f/F, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin learns more about her riding instructor. (Approximately 3,597 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

One of the special privileges at St. Esther, available to those students not on report, is a weekly trip to town. This event takes place on Wednesday afternoons and it is a wonderful time to get away from the school and spend some pocket money.

The trip is not supervised, though usually one or two teachers goes along just to keep an eye on things or to do some shopping of her own. Mostly we just split into small groups and go off on our own, and as long as we don't cause any trouble and are back on time, everything's dandy.

Approximately a week and a half after my "session" with Miss Arler in her office, Mary and I went shopping together in town. It was a glorious Wednesday afternoon and we had hours left of our free time and resolved to spend it wisely. If felt wonderful to be free, even if it was just for a few hours.

After admiring the clothes in a dress shop for half an hour, Mary decided to pop into a book store in search of an elusive copy of a novel she'd been searching for, and I remained outside, my taste for books being more than satisfied by what we were _required_ to read for class. Well, I waited and waited, but after a full twenty minutes Mary didn't emerge. I grew more and more impatient. I must confess that my temper grew hot as thought of all the exciting things I could be doing instead of pacing the sidewalk and waiting for my friend.

So it was with real anger that I stormed into the bookstore, running up and down the aisles looking for Mary. She was nowhere to be found. I searched the entire store (it was not that large) and frantically began a search again, this time fuming and muttering to myself. It was at this moment that I rounded a corner at breakneck speed and collided with a tall figure and we both tumbled to the floor.

"Oooch," I cried out as my head knocked against a wooden bookshelf. "Why the hell don't you look where you are going!"

The words were out of my mouth before I could bite my tongue. Immediately I knew I shouldn't have spoken. As girls of St. Esther we were expected to maintain a certain level of behavior and decorum while in town. We carried "the repuptation of the entire 87-year history of St. Esther" on our shoulders, as Madame Thornley liked to say. And dressed in our school uniforms there was no chance I wouldn't be recognized as a St. Esther girl.

"I think, young lady, that you'd better speak for yourself!" snapped a sharp, very familiar voice.

My eyes went wide as I saw in astonishment that the woman sitting in an undignified heap before me was none other than my riding instructor, Miss Arler!

"Miss Arler!" I gasped, a shiver going down my spine.

"Ah, my dear Erin. It is you who runs through a quiet bookshop with the speed and blindness of a mad bull. I should have known." She stood then, brushing off her long dress. She was dressed like a fine lady--she even wore a shawl around her shoulders and carried a large black satchel. I could scarcely recognize her out of her riding uniform. I kept watching her hands, wondering where her long riding crop was hidden. I'd never seen her without it and it seemed almost an extension of her body.

Miss Arler reached out a hand and helped me to my feet. When I was standing, however, she did not give me my hand back, but gripped it tightly. "I think we shall see what your headmistress thinks of your behavior," she said sternly.

"Oh no, Miss! Please!"

The lady stopped. "Do you have another suggestion? Surely you don't expect your behavior to go unpunished, do you?"

I shook my head miserably. Of course not. What child thinks of escaping punishment? What a silly concept. "No, Miss Arler," I said softly.

"Well then. But perhaps I should take care of this myself, right here?"

I looked around at the crowded shop. I could just picture this strong woman taking me across her knee right in full view of these strangers. My face burned with shame. "Oh, no! Please, Miss Arler, not here! Anything but here!"

"We shall go to my house, then," she said firmly, pulling me along after her. Suddenly I stopped resisting and followed willingly. My heart trembled at the thought of being inside the home of the beautiful Miss Arler. What would it be like?

As we exited the shop who should be standing by the door but Mary, pacing frantically and looking worried. When she saw me her eyes went wide. "Erin! What happened? Who--"

"Your friend needs a lesson in manners," said Miss Arler sternly. "I shall take care of the matter personally. Be assured that she will be back at the school promptly at five."

And with that we were off, trotting up the street leaving my friend Mary staring woefully after us. I, on the other hand, felt a curious mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.

Miss Arler lived on the East side of town, in a modest two-level home at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was painted a soft white with a light blue trim, and neat garden and tall green hedges surrounded the place. I stood on the narrow porch and waited while Miss Arler unlocked the front door, and then we went inside. Neither of us had spoken since we left Mary.

Once inside the house, I instantly was at home. The place was warmly decorated and well-kept though obviously lived-in. A little-used davenport hugged one wall, with a low-lying coffee table just in front of it. A number of magazines were spread out on the table, and a casual glance from me revealed these were mostly equestrian, though I did notice one current event weekly.

Miss Arler vanished with "make yourself comfortable" and I wandered the room examining things, attempting to deduce more information about this strange teacher of mine. The main living room wasn't very large, but it opened directly into the dining area, which looked little used and was elegantly laid out with a beautiful cherry-wood table and a cabinet of rose-petal patterned china in the far corner. I felt intimidated by that room and did not go inside. The kitchen was more my speed, small and homey, but with an infinite amount of mysterious cupboards. The smells of baked goods and recent meals reminded me of home.

"Would you like some tea?" Miss Arler stood at the entrance to the kitchen, her bright eyes following me. She had changed clothes, exchanging the long dress for informal gray slacks and a tight-fitting blouse of pale blue.

"Uh, no thank you, Ma'am," I stammered, startled to be caught in the midst of my investigation.

"Shall we begin then? We do not have much time."

Something in the way she spoke turned my limbs to gelatin. I had well over two hours before I needed to be back at St. Esther. What on earth kind of horror-caning took two hours?

"Please remove your uniform and place it neatly on the davenport," said Miss Arler briskly. "I shall return shortly. And I want you completely naked, young lady--no knickers or undergarments of any kind. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Arler." My voice was slightly tainted with bitterness and obeyed her orders with precision. As I undressed I carefully folded my clothes and placed them in a neat pile on the davenport, growing more and more apprehensive by the second. Finally I stood naked in the center of the living room, the air chilling my nude body and making me feel tremendously exposed and vulnerable.

After several minutes Miss Arler had not appeared and this only heightened by nervousness. I wandered a bit, as much to keep busy as to bring some warmth to my limbs. It was with a depressed heart I realized that soon I would be more than warm enough.

At the opposite side of the living room, near the entrance, was a large wooden hutch filled with books and knick-knacks and curios. These I studied intently, my mind desperately attempting to distract itself from my purpose at being in this place. I saw there were a number of petite china dolls, each dressed in fancy gowns from a different time period. There was Elizabethan, Renaissance, several variations of more modern dresses, and even a few styles I recognized as French and American.

Below the doll collection were several framed photographs, and these I studied eagerly. One of was of a petite curly-haired girl riding a pony, a grim-faced army colonel standing to one side, pride radiating from his stiff smile. Another photograph consisted of a colour close-up of the same man, still military uniform though much older, his hair and moustache gray, his smile stern but pleasant. I looked at this photo for a long time, amazed at the depth of wisdom and knowledge in the man's steel-blue eyes.

"That's my father," said a soft voice behind me. The tone was warm and filled with sadness, and it didn't startle me at all. I turned and saw Miss Arler standing behind me, looking at the picture over my shoulder. Her face was softer than I remembered, and her eyes glinted with moisture. She glanced at me then, staring steadily into my eyes--not as a teacher to a student, but as woman to another woman--and her eyes were sad but joyful.

"He passed away just over a year ago," she whispered. "He was a wonderful man. He raised me himself, you know. My mother died in a car accident when I was a baby, but he never once hired a maid or housekeeper. He insisted on doing it all himself. People used to tell him he was crazy--that he should remarry and give me a mother. But I didn't need a mother. Not with a father like him. He gave me more love than ten ordinary mothers and fathers." She sniffed and blinked back tears. She was not looking at me but staring off into space, remembering. "I miss him very much."

"I-I'm sorry," I said, feeling rather inadequate for the situation. I didn't even know anyone who had died. "I mean, I'm sorry that he died--"

"It was for the best," Miss Arler said sharply, her tone reverting back to her traditional briskness. "It was cancer and it would have done no one any good for him to linger."

I carefully set the picture back on the counter. There were others I didn't really see--a blur of ancient black and white faces; a young couple standing in front of an old Bentley with an old plain white house in the background; a young woman dressed in full English riding gear accepting a golden trophy vase at an official ceremony; and a few others.

"Sh-shall we get down to business?" I asked bravely, feeling a strange desperate need to change the subject. The room felt much smaller, and Miss Arler was much too close to me. I wanted to run away, to get some fresh air.

"Certainly." Miss Arler pointed to the coffee table and I saw with a squirming stomach that it was covered with a collection of crops, straps, whips, canes, and even a thick wooden paddle. My consternation must have shown on my face because Miss Arler laughed gaily and pushed past me to pick up a thick leather tawse, it's end split into several tails. "We have quite a selection to work through, Erin. Shall we begin with this? I don't know if you have tasted the tawse yet, but it is exquisite."

I shook my head. What was this? She was making this sound like a wine-tasting--surely she didn't expect to use _all_ of those dreadful items on me?

But indeed she did. We began with the tawse. She made me stand up straight and tall with my hands held straight above my head. Then she licked me three times on my buttocks and three across the back of my legs. "Exquisite" she called it. Well, it certainly was a distinctive fire. It wasn't the deep bruising of the cane, and while it had some of the sting of the crop, it went much farther, its width and tails striking a larger area with each crucial strokes. I howled and wept immediately, unprepared for such burning.

Miss Arler giggled. "Why, Erin, you are carrying on so one would think you were a novice to such punishment. Perhaps we should return to the crop--you seem more comfortable with that."

"Y-yes, Ma'am," I said, though I winced as I thought of the crop crashing into my blistered bum. These I bent over for, grabbing my ankles and holding on for dear life. They came quickly and without pause, six across my arse and six across my thighs. This pain was more familiar, and though I gritted my teeth and wept bitter tears I did not scream out loud.

"Much better, dear Erin," said Miss Arler in an ordinary, pleasant, friendly voice. It was as though she was commenting on my penmanship, or how well I'd walked Dusty in a circle.

"Have you felt the American paddle?" She put down the crop and picked up the wooden board. I shook my head miserably and wiped tears from my eyes. "Let's do a test, then. Come across my lap."

She moved my clothes off the davenport and seated herself and I draped myself across her lap. It felt strange lying there like that. It was an intimate embrace, of sorts, and strangely comforting. Yet I was filled with apprehension and nervousness. My legs pressed against Miss Arler's slim thighs and I felt a pang of jealousy for her slim figure--my own bottom felt huge and thighs monstrous. I could feel her palm pressing against my bottom and it felt good across the weals from the crop.

Then the softly rubbing hand was removed and a cold wooden board pressed against me, its weight threatening, its size and hardness promising severe pain to come. Cold, irrational terror gripped me and I could not help but whimper in dismay.

There was a soft explosion and my arse ignited with fire. Again and again it came, waves of heat swarming through my body. It was amazing, like nothing else I'd ever felt. The cane is unbelievably intense within a very narrow range. The paddle, on the other hand, warms the entire bottom. Even with all the real estate I had back there it soon felt like every inch was beaten raw. I was sweating and moaning and sobbing huge tears into Miss Arler's clean sofa cushions.

She rode me like a horse. I bucked and wiggled and thrashed about but everywhere I went that paddle found my buttocks and blistered them soundly. It was devastating. There was nothing I could do to escape it. I was overwhelmed with pain to the point that I could barely feel it, but just the sound of that heavy board whacking against my bare flesh caused a fresh explosion of sobs from my soul.

"There. That's a well-toasted bottom," said Miss Arler in a pleased voice, her ice-cold hand quickly passing across my steaming arse. I moaned and cried and lay limp, exhausted, my body glistening with sweat. My bottom was so sore I could not stop weeping.

"Oh, Ma'am, please, Ma'am! I'm sorry I ran into you at the shop and was so rude. I'm very, very sorry! It will never happen again, I swear! Please, Ma'am, I've had enough. It hurts, it really, really hurts!"

"But we haven't had the cane yet!" exclaimed the woman in astonishment. "Surely you don't want to miss out on the cane!"

"Please, Miss Arler," I moaned pitifully. "Not the cane. Not now." I struggled to my feet and turned and knelt before the woman, grasping and kissing her legs and feet. "Please have mercy. Please."

The lady frowned slightly, and licked her lips. "Well, somebody's got to get the cane. It's not a proper thrashing without it. If it's not you, I suppose it will have to be me."

With that she stood walked to the center of the room and kicked off her shoes. While I watched with my lower jaw dangling open like a broken gate, she slipped off her gray slacks and her blouse. She stood before me in a white brassiere and a pair of full cut white panties with her hands on her hips and an expression of annoyance.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you coming? The canes are there on the table. I think twenty should be enough." She motioned toward the table and my eyes traveled to my choice of slim brown rattan and bamboo canes. My hands began to tremble.

"Miss Arler! Y-you can't be serious--"

But as I turned I saw that my teacher's white panties were gathered around her ankles and she was bent at the waist, her slim legs straight, her naked arse pointing at me. "Come on," she said gruffly, her voice slightly muffled coming from between her knees. "Hurry up and let's get this over with. Or I'll give _you_ the cane. It's your choice."

That solved my indecision. There was no way I wanted any more punishment today. I quickly went to the table and selected the longest cane, a slender piece of knobby bamboo. I could tell from the weight it was a boy's cane, probably a senior. Twenty with it would be excruciating.

Miss Arler's bottom was very beautiful. She was slender and fit and her bottom was full and round, with a deep cleft. Though her legs were pressed tightly together, her sex peeked out at the base of her arse. I looked away from it, embarrassed at my teacher's exposure. The skin of her bottom was a flawless alabaster I hesitated to mark. Without thinking I reached out and caressed the smooth cheeks. In moments this silky flesh would covered with purple welts pulsing and swollen. The thought made me shiver, and yet, as I imagined how Miss Arler's rump would look after the caning, I began to desire to see it for real. I saw the gentle curve of her buttocks into her thighs and I thought, "A thick weal right there would serve her right!" I was astonished and a little horrified by my sadistic thoughts.

There was little time to ponder this, however, as Miss Arler was growing impatient. I stepped back and lifted the cane, bringing it to just touch the woman's bottom as I carefully aimed. I'd never caned anyone before, but as I was familiar enough with the concept from the other end of the stick I figured it shouldn't be too hard to learn.

The cane whistled through the air. There was a soft thuck! as it connected. Miss Arler tensed slightly, and then giggled. I saw there was barely a red mark on her butt. I'd have to swing it much harder if I was going to make a dent in her arse!

Swish-crack! Much better. That time she went up on her toes a bit and even gasped slightly. Swish-CRACK! Even better yet. She grunted at that one, and the livid line across both cheeks--though a bit crooked--was testament to the pain.

Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Very quickly I became a proficient caner. I used my intimate knowledge of the caning process to pick my spots well, and though I didn't always hit exactly where I aimed, I could tell it was enormously effective when I did.

After about a dozen strokes Miss Arler's bottom was quite red and striped. She was not crying or protesting, however, but only moaned occasionally and swayed from side to side and wiggled her hips. I caned on, making sure I stung her in the crease several times, and then gave her a couple criss-cross blows that cut diagonally across the marks I'd already placed. Next I put two across her thighs causing some distinctive tiptoe action I could well relate to. My final blow was naturally the hardest, and I placed it in the crease where the buttocks are the plumpest and most tender, and since I'd already beaten this area fairly extensively, it caused Miss Arler to yelp out loud. When she slowly rose I saw her eyes were glistening with tears.

"T-that was very well done, Erin. Reminds a great deal of my father. You will make a fine teacher some day."

"I'm not going to be a teacher. I'm going to be a movie star!"

Miss Arler smiled at me though her face was still strained with tension from her beating. "You can be whatever you'd like, my dear. I won't argue with a girl holding a cane!"

I saw still had the cane in my hand and threw it on the table as though it was a live poker burning my palm. "Are--are we finished, Ma'am?"

Miss Arler nodded. "Yes, I think you've suffered enough for one day. Do you agree you've learned you lesson?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good. Then let me get my coat and I will walk you to St. Esther's."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 22
Business as Usual

(****, F/f, Severe, Teen caning)

More lessons from Miss Arler. (Approximately 743 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

I told no one of what had happened at Miss Arler's that afternoon. When Mary saw me, I hinted that I'd been caned, but I was reluctant to go into details, and Mary didn't press. I wasn't exactly sure what to think of the event. Caning my teacher was a strange and bewildering experience, though it was rather enjoyable. I did not understand why Miss Arler had volunteered. Had she done something wrong and felt she deserved the cane? Or did she _like_ being caned? That was something I could almost understand--my own ordeals with the cane had taught me that it is a powerful experience, emotional as much as physical. I wouldn't exactly call it enjoyable, but it did meet some secret need in my heart.

Regardless of how I interpreted caning Miss Arler, there was one thing I was confident in: she and I were very close. In fact, I felt closer to her than to Ariana, at least in some ways. On the surface Miss Arler was cold and distant and very proper, but inside she was warm and caring, just a quiet woman who missed her father. On the walk to the school she'd told me that he had been a Colonel in the army. He had been very strict with her as a child, and she still remembered every stroke of every caning she received from him.

"No one could cane like my father," she said, and her voice was wistful and sad.

"Is that why you are so generous with your crop during our riding lessons?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, I use the crop because I know what naughty girls like you need and deserve!"

Miss Arler was probably right--we certainly rode better after a good cropping, and in general our behavior had improved tremendously from when we'd first arrived under her tutelage.

On Saturday I was more excited than usual about going riding. This was because I was going to see Miss Arler, and with our new friendship I hoped to learn more about her. It also, I must confess, made me feel a touch superior to my classmates. I didn't say a word about it, of course--but my secret did make me a bit smug.

The second we arrived Miss Arler wiped the smile off my face with her crop. "Eeek!" she screamed in outrage when she saw me. She pointed at my feet and rolled in eyes in overdone despair. Then her eyes glowed with fury and she pointed the long crop at me with no question about what she intended.

"Your boots are a despicable, filthy mess!" she snapped. "Get in position, now!"

I was stunned. Bewildered, I slowly turned and bent over, my bottom tingling in anticipation. THWACK! came the crop and I actually hissed slightly. Miss Arler was not being gentle at all but cropping me as hard as she could. My bum was still sore from Wednesday (not to mention a slippering or two I'd gotten since then).

She gave me six blows and I started to rise. "Where do you think you are going, young lady? Just for that display of arrogance, we shall give you another six. You do not get up until I tell you to!"

I bent back over. Tears burned in my eyes and my face was flushed and hot. This was so unfair! Why was Miss Arler being so cruel to me? Did we or did we not have a special relationship? I felt betrayed, confused, bewildered. I did not understand anything, and though the cropping hurt considerably, I cried because my world had become incomprehensible to me.

Twice more that day Miss Arler gave me the crop, each time for minor offences. I saw the other girls glancing at each other in horror and surprise--they feared for their own bottoms if the teacher was going to be so unreasonably strict.

She did crop a couple of the other girls, but those were for typical offences--noone else was treated as strictly as me. I went home with a sore behind and an even more wounded heart. I tried to catch Miss Arler's eyes to see what was happening behind them, but she would not look directly at me, and her expression was one of stern annoyance. Apparently we were nothing special after all.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 23
The Summons

(***, F/f, Intense, Teen slippering)

Erin visits the Head. (Approximately 790 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

While I tasted more than my share of Miss Arler's riding crop and still received the occasional caning from Madame Thornley or a slippering from one of the other instructors, these were nothing but routine. In general my behavior had improved extensively since arriving at St. Esther's School for Girls. My studies were progressing well, my marks satisfactory, even high in a few cases, and I was learning to stay out of trouble. I even grew nervous when I saw a teacher with a cane.

Thus it was on the day I received the summons to the head's office. I was in process of receiving a sound slippering from Mrs. Tobias for something or other--I swear I honestly don't even remember, though I think it was for something suitably minor, like running in the corridors or being tardy. Mrs. Tobias was a large, round woman with a strong hand. She didn't slipper often but when she did you remembered it the next day. She gave me a full dozen on each cheek and she kept asking after each smack if I'd felt it.

"Of course I bloody felt it, you witch!" was what I thought, but I never said that out loud. Instead I "ouched" and wiggled and made a fuss the way she seemed to want me to do. I didn't cry, though. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of that.

Mrs. Tobias was just finishing up when a girl named Marla poked her head in the doorway--the door was wide open, of course--and said that the head wanted to see me.

"Looks like she's on to you, you naughty girl!" scolded Mrs. Tobias delivering another sizzling whack to my backside. "No doubt she has the stick in mind for your bum!"

The thought chilled me. It had been at least a month since I'd given the head any reason to cane me. Had some dreadful behavior I'd forgotten caught up with me? I could think of nothing, but I knew very well that that didn't mean anything at St. Esther's.

So I walked the corridor's to the Madame Thornley's office with my stomach twisted in knots of trepidation and worry. My bum was very sore from my slippering, and the cane was the last thing I needed to cool it off. I felt rather glum and full of self-pity. I couldn't imagine what I'd done, which meant it had to be really horrible which in turn meant the caning would be especially severe.

Finally the door to Madame Thornley's office opened and she stood in entrance glaring at me. "Please come in, Erin," she said softly. I followed and shut the door behind me. If I was to be caned I didn't want any witnesses.

"How have you been fairing?"

"Fine, Ma'am."

"Your schoolwork has improved dramatically over the last few months."

"Thank you."

"I haven't even seen you in my office for a long while. I trust your teachers and prefect aren't neglecting your discipline?"

I shook my head most emphatically. "Oh, no, Ma'am."

"Good." She smiled. "Do you enjoy your Saturday riding lessons?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Very much."

"I've been speaking with Miss Arler. She is very concerned about you. She says you've got remarkable talent but lack some motivation. She has requested additional time to tutor you in private."

"Ma'am?"

"I was thinking that Wednesday afternoons would be appropriate. After all, there's only a month of school left and you can live for a few weeks without your town privileges. I hope you understand that this is very generous of Miss Arler. She is not charging extra for tutoring you. The least you could do would be to sacrifice something yourself in the interest of education."

"Yes, Ma'am."

My heart was fluttering and I could scarcely breathe. My emotions were going up and down like a small boat on the high seas. On the one hand I felt tremendous relief that I apparently wasn't going to be caned after all, but there was a certain disappointment mixed with that revelation. I felt excited that Miss Arler was going to tutor me in private, but I strongly suspected what these lessons would entail--very little riding and a great deal of me crying over her desk, no doubt.

"Well good then," said the headmistress firmly. "It is settled. I will contact Miss Arler and your first lesson shall be tomorrow. That is all."

Slowly I left Madame Thornley's office. I was both more happier and more depressed than when I went inside, though I couldn't begin to understand why. It seemed I still had a great deal to learn about the world.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 24
Extra Lessons

(***, F/f, f/F, Severe, Teen cropping, caning, whipping)

Erin sees more of her riding instructor. (Approximately 1,998 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The next afternoon I dressed in my riding outfit and walked to the stables. It seemed strange to be walking by myself, but in a way I was glad--it wouldn't do for the other girls to see what Miss Arler did to me in private. I had little doubt what my "private lesson" would be about--my bottom was tingling already--and it seemed surreal to think that in just a couple hours I'd be walking home along the same path, but my bum would swollen and sore.

I knocked on the door to Miss Arler's office and waited.

"Come in."

I entered, closing the door behind me. The office was the same as always, including the whips and cane hung behind the door. Miss Arler was seated behind her desk watching me. I could tell nothing from her cold eyes.

"You are late," she finally said. I glanced at the clock and saw it was ten minute to three. Three o'clock was to be the start of my afternoon riding lesson.

"Ma'am? I though the lesson was for three o'clock."

"You are arguing with me. That's an extra half-dozen for cheek." She stood to her full height and took up the long crop that had been lying across her desk. "Get in position or we shall make it two dozen."

I didn't argue but bent over. Eighteen sizzling strokes followed. I bore them well, but I was antsy by the time it was over. My bottom burned and my face was flushed when I was told to stand. "Good. Now follow me."

I followed Miss Arler outside, to her car. "Get in," she said. I did, wincing as I sat on the leather seat. She started the engine and drove off. Of course I was burning with curiosity and wondering about our riding lesson, but I didn't say a word. In fact, I was a little afraid of this strange woman.

We drove to Miss Arler's house. She parked in the driveway and got out, motioning for me to follow. Once inside, I felt my stomach go quivery with the memories of my last time here. I had flashes of my naked red bottom as I writhed across Miss Arler's lap, of Miss Arler's bare bum as I struck it, and the picture of her father.

Miss Arler didn't give me time to relax. She immediately began to undress. "Place your clothes over there," she said pleasantly, and I quickly stripped off my riding outfit. When I was naked I turned and saw Miss Arler laying out an assortment of canes and whips on the small table. She was humming a happy little tune as she worked, sorting them in an order I couldn't understand.

She picked up something I had never seen before. It reminded me of a feather duster, except instead of feathers a dozen thin leather tongues dangled from the short handle. "Have you ever felt the martinet?" asked the woman as she caressed the whip.

"No, Ma'am."

"Ah, you are in for an experience, child. It is exquisite." There was that word again. So strange, and yet, I thought I understood what she meant.

"The key to the martinet," she continued, "at least with this one, because it is so light, is in its subtlty. Have you heard of _Rangish_?" She pronounced the word as "rain-geesh." I shook my head.

"It's an exotic dish. It's made of chicken, lamb, and spices, and it's very, very good, very tender. The meat literally melts in your mouth. But it's very difficult to prepare. The proper procedure requires over two days and the meat must be slowly roasted over a very light flame for seventeen hours. It is a wonderful meal."

Miss Arler was walking around me as she spoke, and now she began to dangle the tails of the martinet across my body. She brushed it across my breasts, my back, my bum, even my sex. I blushed and felt dizzy. This woman made me feel so strange!

"The point of my story," she continued, "is that good things take time. Could you take a hundred strokes of the cane?"

I gasped in horror and my eyes went wide. "Oh, no, Ma'am! Of course not."

She smiled gently, a wicked, knowing smile. "But you shall receive a hundred with the martinet. In fact, after the first hundred you might even ask for another hundred."

I shuddered to imagine that--nothing would make me ask for more punishment. The very concept of a hundred strokes of anything terrified me. Surely she could not be serious.

But she was.

"Stand here," she ordered, pointing to a straight-backed chair with no arms that she had placed in the center of the room. I walked over to it and stood awkwardly, my stomach churning nervously. "Place on left knee on the chair," she said thoughtfully. "I think I will whip each buttock separately so as to prolong the punishment. We'll do a hundred on each cheek and then a hundred across your thighs. That should take a while."

Trembling, I obeyed. The position thrust out my right buttock. I could not imagine what this would be like. The whip in her hand looked awful. Well, if she said this was going to be "exquisite" I knew that meant one thing: this was going to hurt like hell.

Miss Arler went behind me. There was a very soft "whhheet" and I felt a slight burning sting across the right cheek of my bum. It was quite sharp at first, like a dozen needle pricks, and then it cooled. Again came the light sound and the sting. It really was not bad. In fact, it felt rather pleasant, like hands giving your sore back a deep, painful massage.

I was very conscious of the first dozen or so strokes. Soon, however, all I felt was a dull burning, a deep warmth in my rear. My mind went elsewhere, nowhere, and I stood there groaning and wiggling. I could hear the sound of the whip striking me, but I felt nothing, everything. It was astonishing. The heat in my body simply kept rising, intensifying. Tears dripped down my face but I felt very happy, no content, that's the word. I was aware of very little, aware of everything, at least the important things. I could feel myself breathing and each suck of air felt wonderful. I was alive and healthy, warm and naked. My body quivered and danced and was covered with sweat.

"That's a hundred," boomed the voice from a million miles away. "Now switch legs." I obeyed without thinking, without conscious thought. Then came the light stings, this time on my left side. I was more awake now, feeling each stroke. But soon I was again lost, the whip caressing my cheek with a passion I felt I truly understood.

A long time later, just seconds it seemed, and it was time for my thighs. I spread myself out on the davenport, a pillow under my hips to prop up my bum and the lash began to descend again. This is was harder, more intense, but still slow and long. Indeed, I felt like I'd been in a cooker all afternoon. My body teemed with tension and release, hot and cold, pain and pleasure. I was a quivering mass of controdictions. When Miss Arler said, "One hundred" and screamed, "No, please don't stop!" I couldn't bear to let the fire go out. The burning between my legs was incredibly fierce, very hot, and as the blessed Miss Arler continued to flog me I spread my legs wider so that as the whip struck at the base of my rump a few of the leather strands would catch the bared lips of my sex, stinging them with fire and honey. I swooned several times during this process and each time when Miss Arler was ready to stop I insisted she continue.

Finally she put down the martinet. "That's four hundred, dear. I think you've had enough. Besides, it is getting late."

Slowly the haze lifted and I became aware of an incredible pain in my arse. My entire bum and the backs of my legs felt raw and peeled, and I began to weep in astonishment and pain. Slowly I got to my feet. I could not believe what I had just experienced. It was too amazing for words.

Then Miss Arler was standing near me, holding a long white cane. My throat went dry and fear gripped my heart. "Please, Ma'am," I whispered hoarsely. "I beg you, please. I've had enough."

"I know, Erin, dear," said my teacher gently, kissing my forehead tenderly. She pressed the cane into my hands. "This is for me. Twenty-four of the best."

Again a dizzy feeling of unreality passed through me. I gripped the cane tightly for confidence. It certainly felt real enough. The pain in my bottom felt real enough. The naked Miss Arler bent over the back of the wooden chair, her bare arse waiting my attention looked real enough. I stepped forward.

My first two strokes were weak and hesitant. Miss Arler refused to allow me to count them. "Twenty-four of the _best_," she said firmly. "The _best_."

I started again and quickly got the hang of it. Line by thin line, I began to paint Miss Arler's bum a deep burgandy. She took it well. She moaned almost constantly, and occasionally yelped, but she never stood up or tried to cover her bum. Twenty-four strokes (twenty-six if you count the first two feeble ones)! Such a fierce caning terrified me yet I wondered what it felt like. Did one go numb after the first dozen? Why did a caning produce such a rush of emotions, anyway? I found I liked delivering a caning almost as much as receiving one. There was a sense of power in it that I enjoyed, and it was fascinating to watch and judge how my technique affected Miss Arler.

When I finished I was very tired, and wet with sweat. Miss Arler was also sweaty, her body glistening. She thanked for the caning and guided me into her bathroom where she turned on a cool shower and bade me to enter. I did so, the cold water both wonderfully soothing and wonderfully aching.

Just as I was beginning to get used to the temperature, Miss Arler climbed into the shower with me. It was a narrow shower, about three feet square, and we could not avoid touching each other. Our bodies pressed against one another. My eyes were about even with Miss Arler's beautiful breasts; her sex came to my belly. When she turned her back to me and pressed her raw, wealed buttocks against my stomach I didn't know what to think--the feeling was wonderful, exciting. I wanted to kneel and kiss her bum, lick those tender welts but I dared not--what would she think of me then?

We showered for a long while, soap and everything. We washed each other off, paying especial attention to our sore behinds. Miss Arler did not speak but she giggled a lot, and I suppose I did too.

When we finished she dried me off and told me she'd see me next Wednesday for my next private "lesson." I dressed and left in a daze, completely bewildered by everything I had experienced.

My sessions after that were not nearly so engulfing, though each had its distinct taste. I later got to do more than just cane Miss Arler--I tried out the tawse and paddle and whips as well. She could take much more than me--I was frequently amazed at her ability to endure pain--but she taught me a great deal, and before the end of summer she was routinely giving me two dozen of the best with the cane.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 25
In Public

(****, F/f, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin gets it from the prefects. (Approximately 800 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

It was odd, but other than private canings from Ariana, I'd never been given "the prefect treatment" from the other leaders. Usually several times a month the prefects would take girls downstairs to the boiler room for a "public" session with the cane. This was far different from a private caning with your prefect--this was a caning with a roomful of your friends watching. I'd attended many of these, but I'd never experienced one myself. I wasn't sure I was missing anything.

One day, late that year, I got into an argument with Prefect Lydia. She was snotty girl, as naughty as any of us lower girls, but she got away with it because she was both lucky and a prefect. Her attitude infuriated me, however, and I usually avoided her because inevitably I ended up bent over for the slipper.

My argument with Lydia that day was most trivial--it had to do with which school was going to win league soccer match that Sunday. For some reason I was in a stubborn mood that day and refused to give in. We argued and argued until Prefect Denise, who was nearby, said, "Why don't you have a wager on it?"

A small crowd had gathered to watch us pair off--no doubt expecting to watch me get a dose of the slipper--and at this suggestion the girls all cheered and my fate was sealed. Lydia and I glared at each other.

"I have no pocket money left," I said sullenly. "I can't wager."

"Wager something else," someone said. Suggestions poured forth.

"Do the other's homework for a month."

"Shave your head."

"A dozen with the slipper," said another, and I saw my chance. There was nothing in the world that appealed to me more than whipping snobby Lydia's bare bottom.

"The cane," I said daringly. "I'll wager the cane. The winner canes the loser."

Lydia glared at me. "I'll bet that. How many?"

"Six of the best."

"Six is a child's punishment. I say a dozen."

"I can take a dozen in my sleep."

"So can I."

"Eighteen then." The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I'd said. Yipes! There was a good chance I'd lose this bet--my team was more of an emotional favorite than skilled players. Well, they'd better play the game of their life on Sunday!

Lydia reached out her hand. "Downstairs, bare bottomed, everyone watching. Eighteen strokes, winner to loser. Is it a deal?"

My palm was sweating but I couldn't back out now. "It's a deal."

I won't bore you with the suspense of waiting I had that week--the countless looks of sympathy and support from friends and the derision and laughter and mock cane strokes from my enemies--suffice it to say that my team lost miserably, and Sunday night I found myself in a packed out boiler room, naked as the day I was born, and watching Lydia approach with the long white cane.

She did not disguise her gloating. "Over the table," she told me, and over I went, swearing to myself I'd never make another wager as long as I lived. It wasn't the pain I feared as much as the humiliation of being caned by Lydia, of all people, and with all my friends and enemies watching.

The first stroke took my breath away, but I stayed in position. By the third I was sweating, and after the first six I was starting to fidget. Lydia was an excellent caner, striking consistently and soundly. The second set was delivered almost on top of the first and it was all I could do to not scream. My eyes teared by I did not cry, determined to keep that prize away from my tormentor.

She saw this and struck me even harder for the final set of six, but by that time it was too late--I was riding high on the pain and further strokes didn't bother me. Lydia thrashed me black and blue, eighteen of the best, but I did not cry. Everyone watching was very impressed, and a few of the other prefects scolded and teased Lydia, suggesting she had gone light with me. That, of course, infuriated her, and I knew I should stay out of her way because she had it in for me.

Lydia had won the wager, but I had won the respect of my peers--never once had I suggested backing out of our deal, something I heard numerous people mention wouldn't have been the case had our positions been reversed. Lydia was a coward, and that made her resent my bravery all the more. I'd have to watch her in the future.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 26
Good-bye

(****, f/f, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin says good-bye to a dear friend. (Approximately 849 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The end of the school year came quicker than I expected, and it brought with it an unexpected sadness: Ariana was leaving. We'd grown close to each other and the thought of not seeing her again made me want to cry. On our last day together we sat in Ariana's room and didn't say much, both of us too upset to talk.

"You've been a good friend," Ariana finally said. "I've never known such a good sport."

"Being caned by you is an honor," I said. Ariana didn't speak. Suddenly I got to my feet and ran to my room and fetched the cane Ariana had given me for my birthday. Returning to the room and gave it to her. "A good-bye present," I said. "Make me remember you."

Ariana smiled softly. "Twenty-four, then."

I gulped. "Whatever you say, Ma'am." I bowed my head.

We went down to the deserted boiler room and I stripped off all my clothes--I wanted nothing to distract me from this experience. Ariana had me start by bending over and grabbing my ankles. This is a tough position to hold and I was glad she intended to only give me six while I struggled to stay bent over.

The first six were certainly not routine, though the pain was no longer unbearable to me. As the stripes mounted and I felt the familiar stages of pain building I felt sad knowing that this was to be my last caning from my friend. It was strange what a difference who was doing the caning made--I resented every stroke Lydia had given me, but Ariana's I welcomed, because she was my friend and I knew she loved me.

After the first six I was stiff and my bottom sore. I knew there was much more to come, however. I walked to the table and laid myself across it. The table position was easier to bear, but my nipples were always rubbed raw against the wooden surface.

The second set was sharper, more haphazard, the strokes landing across my bottom and thighs. Now I was really getting sore. My eyes were stinging and my breathing was heavy. I had begun to sweat a little.

For the third set I knelt on the sofa and stuck my bum out behind me. This was difficult, to say the least, but it was easier knowing I was offering myself to Ariana and not Lydia or a teacher. During this set of six I began to cry and make noise--I couldn't help myself. Ariana had caned me soundly so far but now she really began to thrash me and each stroke sent waves of terror and pain through my body. I was trembling when she finished. My arse and the backs of my legs were on fire--I had rarely been caned so thoroughly. Even my regular punishments from Miss Arler (who I hadn't seen in a couple weeks as riding lessons were over for the year) weren't as purely brutal as this final caning from my friend and prefect.

It hurt to move after the eighteenth stroke, but I managed to get up and lie down across the arm of the sofa. This was a more relaxed position as I didn't have to hold myself up--I could just lie there and be beaten. My bum was thrust into the air and my legs dangled over the edge and didn't quite reach the floor. It made me feel helpless.

It was here Ariana demonstrated her true artistry. Somehow, despite the eighteen strokes I'd already received, she found fresh skin to torment. She struck me from different sides and at odd angles that seemed to dig deep into my very soul. I cried out in agony and wept profusely. At first I couldn't understand how she did it--usually at this stage of the punishment I am rather numb.

But Ariana used the tip of the cane to burn holes into my arse. For instance, the first two strokes she did from alternate sides making the tip sink deep into the fleshy base of my bottom crack. The pain was excrutiating.

Ariana also changed her position so that the end of the cane wrapped itself around my buttocks better and the tip left deep welts on the sides of my bum.

When it was finally over I could not stop weeping. Ariana took me in her arms and hugged me, and for a long time I just cried. "I will miss you very much," I finally said. "No one understands me the way you do."

Ariana nodded and to my surprise I saw she was crying too.

She left the next morning. That night I lay in bed and fondled my sore bottom, remembering every stroke of her final gift to me. It made me weep to think I'd never seen her pretty face again, hear her sternly order me to bend over, or feel the surprising power behind her slipper and cane.

I missed her already.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 27
Promotion

(***, f/f, Intense, Teen discipine)

Erin gets a shocking promotion. (Approximately 671 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Summer came and went, and the next year rolled around. Discipline was the same at St. Esther's, but I rarely felt it (at least not more than any of the other girls). I had found that being a rebel did me little good--besides, I enjoyed my studies and found I had an aptitude I had not known. I began to concentrate on school for a while, and forgot about being naughty.

After I turned seventeen it was perhaps even more of shock to me than to anyone else that I was promoted to prefect. My good behavior and marks had elicited the favour of my superiors, and I was put in charge of a group of girls.

My first day on the job I got to slipper a girl--I gave her six on each cheek. I don't even remember what it was for, only that I was so very nervous. I feared I'd hit her too hard and she'd resent me, or that I'd be too soft and she'd think she could walk over me. I wondered if Ariana had ever been nervous like that. I decided probably not--she had a sixth sense about what a girl was feeling and just how much she needed.

After my first few slipperings, however, my confidence increased and soon I'd developed a tough, no nonsense reputation. I still hadn't caned anyone yet, but later that month I had my first go at it.

There were two girls in my group, Samantha Jennis and Tori Barber, who were always in trouble. I'd slippered both of them on two separate occasions and it had done little good. I knew they were heading for the cane. One evening I discovered them playing cards after lights out. I told Tori to fetch me the slipper but she begged me not to saying that they'd never do it again. I didn't want to seem overly harsh, and after all, I'd done my own share of late night games, so I let them off. I studied in my room for an hour and then peeked back in their quarters before going to sleep.

To my shock and outrage the two girls were awake and playing cards again, giggling over the way they'd pulled the wool over my eyes. A moment later both girls were crying and begging for mercy as I dragged them downstairs to the boiler room.

In the room I made them both strip completely--not normal procedure but I wanted them to remember this punishment for a long time. Once naked, the two frightened girls bent over the back of the sofa. I had them positioned right next to each other so I could cane them both at the same time.

"Six each," I said sternly. "And if either of you get out of position you _both_ get two extra!"

Then I began the thrashing. My experience under the cane had taught me worlds about how to use it, and I made sure these arrogant girls learned their lesson well. Tori was positioned closer to me, so the end of the cane, where most of the force was contained, caught Sam's arse. Tori's bottom felt little, though there were some faint marks on her bum when we'd finished. After the first six I had the girls switch positions so that Tori was further from me and received the brunt of the punishment, but Sam felt each stroke too.

Both girls were pretty and had cute girlish bodies, and neither took their caning in silence--both cried and wiggled bare bums in delightfully creative manners, begged for mercy, and made a great deal of useless fuss. When it was over they stood crying, their bottoms well-striped and no doubt throbbing, but I made them go stand facing the wall for fifteen minutes before I let them get dressed and rub their aching behinds.

It was an excellent beginning to my tenure as a prefect.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 28
Prefect Duties

(****, f/f, Severe, Teen discipline)

Erin acquires a taste for prefecting. (Approximately 1,234 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My first experience delivering the cane as a prefect was like a tame lion tasting blood for the first time--once I got the taste I couldn't get enough of it. I became a maniac, caning and slippering every chance I could get. I watched my girls like a vampire, pouncing every time I saw the slightest infraction that enabled me to deliver my own brand of swift and stern punishment.

As the months progressed my reputation grew to monstrous proportions, and I was feared by everyone, even the other prefects. (Not that they expected me to cane them--they just had a healthy respect for my strict standards.) I hadn't tasted the cane myself in months--which suited me just fine, as my discovery of the pleasures of giving pain surpassed the limited pleasures I'd had in receiving it.

Most these episodes of discipline were routine--a slippering for running down a corridor, a dose of the cane for two girls fighting, etc. But there were a few sessions that I remember fondly because they were _different_.

There was one incident, for instance, where Prefect Nancy and I slippered fifteen girls at once. My arm was actually sore when we'd finished!

What happened was this. Our football team was scheduled to play the hated Williams team several times during the season. The first game we had lost, and we were determined to not lose again. Everyone wanted the girls motivated, so Nancy and I were put in charge of "motivation." We warned the girls--"lose the second match and it's the slipper."

We lost 3-1.

After the game it was a glum group that gathered for showers. One by one, as each girl walked naked into the shower, she paused first before me, and then before Nancy, and each of us walloped the girl's rump ten strokes. The girls took long, noisy showers that day, and when they finally finished (Nancy shut off the hot water), emerging hesitantly and dripping wet, each was subjected to the same routine upon exit: ten swats from each of us prefects. The second set really stung, both because the girls were already sore but mainly because their skin was wet.

It was during this slippering that I noticed a young girl named Jessie. She was very small and seemed almost frail, but I'd seen her play soccer and knew she was tough. She didn't even flinch at my hardest strokes. She had an elegant grace about her, a soft, understated beauty. Her bottom was small and firm but very round and pronounced--I enjoyed thrashing her. Afterwards, I asked her to stay behind.

She waited, mournfully watching the others go and get dressed, wondering what I had in mind for her. I ignored her, busying myself with meaningless tasks until everyone had left. Jessie stood naked and forlorn near the showers.

"Turn around and bend over!" I ordered. She paled but obeyed instantly, showing me her pert bottom that already was resuming its natural creamy color. With the palm of my hand I rapidly spanked Jessie's cheeks ten times each. She didn't say a word.

I made her stand and turned her around so I could glare at her. "Perhaps I should fetch a cane?"

"Oh, please, Prefect Erin! I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what I did but I'm sorry!"

"You don't know what you did?"

"No, ma'am."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"And how come the slipper doesn't bother you?"

The girl's cheeks paled and she shook her head frantically. "Oh, but it does! I hurts terribly."

"Show me," I said, and I took up the slipper and gave the girl ten sharp wallops. She yelped and moaned and gazed at me nervously from under her half-closed eyelids.

"Oh! It hurts! That's enough, please!" she cried. But her eyes betrayed her--there was no passion in those eyes, no real terror. She was only pretending to be afraid. I gave her ten more, and then another ten. By this time she was starting to whimper, and tears were in her eyes. Her bottom was gloriously red and even swelling a bit.

"Show me you feel it," I growled, and she moaned loudly as I began another set of ten. It took two more sets and then she began to cry openly, weeping as though she'd been saving it up for years. She fell into my arms and I accepted her without a thought, comforting her as though she were an injured child.

"I'm sorry," she kept saying, over and over. "I'm sorry. I thought I was being brave, but you're right--I wasn't brave at all. I was really terrified but I couldn't let anyone know. I was afraid to be afraid, to show how much it hurt. Thank you for setting me free." And she sobbed as though it would change the world.

From that day forth Jessie became my gofer. She did my errands, helped me with my prefect duties, washed my clothes, and assisted with my homework, just to name a few items. She also accepted my discipline, and I gave it to her generously, from hand-spankings and slippers to serious canings down in the boiler room. Jessie never once complained.

It was from Jessie I learned the subtlety of discipline. Ariana had taught it to me from the receiving side; Jessie taught it to me from the giving side. I would watch her face, especially her eyes, and I grew to recognize the conflicting signs of painful acceptance. Soon I could tell at a glance exactly what she was feeling as I punished her, and, like Ariana had done with me, I knew when Jessie hadn't had enough even when she cried and begged me to stop. In her soul, I could tell, she wanted me to beat her thoroughly; she needed me to take her places she couldn't take herself. So I did.

I also learned the subtlety of each of many implements at my disposal: the cane, the slipper, the leather tawse, the wooden paddle, the ruler, and the hand. After a short time I could recognize instantly from Jessie's behavior whether she needed a dose of my hand while across my lap or a session with the cane or paddle in the boiler room. Each implement had advantages and disadvantages--the cane, for instance, is too severe to be used regularly or for many strokes. The result is that the punishment is harsh but nearly instantaneous. The hand or ruler, however, can be used almost indefinitely. And nothing is quite as disheartening to a naughty girl than the thought of spending a full half-hour bent across a prefect's lap while her bottom is gradually blistered.

I saw a great deal of myself in little Jessie. It made me slightly sad for some reason, and it frightened me a bit, too. I thought she was far prettier than I was, and she was always at her prettiest after a thorough whipping when she stood naked and humbled, her beautiful china-doll eyes dripping silent tears.

I loved Jessie. It was a very different love than I had for Ariana--I think I would have begged for the honor of sacrificing my life for Jessie, while for Ariana, if required,I would have simply done it out of routine obedience.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 29
Miss Arler Again

(****, f/f, F/f, Severe, Teen birching)

Erin is caught with switch in hand. (Approximately 2,869 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Early in the spring of that year, my last year of school, I had an experience that changed me forever. I had changed a great deal in the last couple of years, going from a mischievous, naughty brat to a stern and serious student. My sense of humor had almost completely vanished, buried beneath my new guise as prefect and favorite of the headmistress. I had few friends, and I knew many girls actively disliked me. I was no fun, they said, and I had changed. Deep inside I knew what they said was true--I felt it myself--but I refused to acknowledge their remarks and pretended, even to myself, that everything was fine.

But inside I was wreck. I did not particularly like myself any more. I wished the other girls liked me better, and I longed for the old days, when Ariana would take me down to the boiler room and put everything into the right perspective again.

One day Jessie and I look a long walk through the countryside. We had nearly the entire day to ourselves--a reward for getting our studies done and good behavior. Jessie carried a little knapsack of sandwiches and cold bottles of gingerbeer and we picnicked on our own, way off in the woods and fields that surrounded St. Esther. After our meal, all the more delicious for being out-of-doors and after the effort of a long hike, I brought up the question of Jessie's behavior during the previous week.

"Jessie, I want you to answer me honestly: have you been a good girl this week?"

Jessie's dark eyes went wide with alarm. She licked her lips nervously, and I could almost feel the intense beating of her heart. She looked at me straight on and I knew she could not lie to me. Her head dropped and she shook her head slowly. "N-not a perfect girl, mistress," she whispered. This was secret title for me, used only when we were alone. In public she addressed me as prefect.

"What did you do wrong?" I asked.

Her face was dark and her eyes were nervous. She looked very beautiful, like a puzzled kitten: curious and wanting to be happy, but uncertain as to what was coming next.

"You-you had to discipline me several times this week," said Jessie carefully. "I'm sorry I was such trouble."

"And?"

"And my English marks were low this week. I did not take time to rewrite my essay as you told me I should."

I nodded, pleased with confession. Jessie continued. "My maths are usually weak, but this week they were terrible. I asked Sandy Dennis for help and she agreed, but only if I take three slipperings for her."

"That's fair," I said. Trading slipperings was a fairly common practice at St. Esther's--few girls had much pocket money and slipperings were frequent enough to make the trade practical. Trades only worked on slipperings from prefects, of course--teachers wouldn't have allowed the substitution. "I'm pleased you were seeking help on your own initiative, but what's wrong with that?"

Jessie bowed her head. "Nothing, mistress. Except I did not follow through on my promise. Sandy was caught fighting with Eleanor and both girls are to receive two dozen whacks on each cheek every night for a week starting last night. Sandy knew that, and that's why she wanted to trade. When I found out what kind of a slippering I would be required to take I didn't show up last night."

"So you reneged on a promise."

"Not exactly. I figured she's getting plenty more, and since I was still sore yesterday from the caning you gave me on Thursday, I figured I could wait a day or so."

"So you reneged on a promise."

Jessie's face went crimson and her mouth opened in protest. "No! Like I said, since Sandy's getting it every night what difference does it make which three I take for her?"

"Did you explain this to Sandy?"

Jessie's head dropped again. "No, mistress."

"So you just decided on your own."

"Yes, mistress."

"Very well. Anything else you've done this week?"

Jessie thought for a moment and then shook her head. "I don't think so, mistress."

I glared at Jessie. "About fifty yards behind you is a small grove of birch trees. I want you to go and fetch me two dozen switches."

The pretty teenage girl in front of me opened her mouth for a second, and then snapped it shut. Her face was pale and her eyes frightened, but she stood obediently to her feet and nodded to me. Then she ran to the birch trees and began tearing off thin branches.

I watched her, amused. This was a new experience for her, and I meant for it to be one she'd remember for a long time. Jessie was very nervous as she gathered the branches, and once I saw her quickly wipe her eye with her sleeve and suspected she was crying a little. She knew I was angry with her, and she knew that our little walk today was little more than an excuse to get away from the school so I could discipline her in private. But now that it had begun, I knew she was having second thoughts. It was one thing to talk about discipline, but quite another to actually receive it.

Jessie came back to me a subdued and trembling girl. Her eyes glistened like glowing embers as she placed the pile of branches before me. At a cold nod from me she sat and began stripping the birch switches. While she did this I took several pieces of twine from my pocket and placed them before her, and though she'd never been birched, Jessie knew what to do and quickly and efficiently bound together three stout bundles of birch rods.

"Stand up and remove your clothes," I ordered, and with little more than a pale glance in my direction, my little slave stood and began to disrobe. Since it was a free day and we were going hiking, we'd both worn slacks, loose short-sleeve blouses, and strong shoes. It did not take Jessie long to strip completely naked, and though she nervously glanced at the countryside surrounding us several times, she did not hesitate to obey me. She stood naked in front of me with her hands folded behind her neck, waiting.

I did not speak or look at her for a long time, but let her nervousness grow. Once, after ten minutes or so, she fidgeted, and I was forced to reprimand her sternly. She was terrified and remained rigid with fear after that. It was approximately a half hour later that I finally stood up and idly picked up one of the birches.

Jessie was almost relieved. I saw sweat trickling down her neck though it was not an especially warm day. I took the birch and walked around her, looking at her critically. I wanted her to feel self-conscious and naked, to feel humiliated and abased. Occasionally I took the birch and ran it across her body, caressing her with the tip. I did not strike her, but petted her. I lifted her petite breasts with it, scratched at her stiff nipples. I ran it down her belly and crotch, up along the back of her legs and rubbed her bottom with it. I massaged her back and tickled her neck and cheek with it. Jessie groaned occasionally, wincing at the touch of the switches, and closing her eyes. Many times I watched her hold her breath, afraid to breathe. I would wait until she was forced to gasp for air and then I'd move, startling her, thrusting the branches between her legs or some other unexpected place. Tears moisted her cheeks though I had yet to strike the first blow.

Finally, after an eternity of this, I began the whipping. I was not especially gentle or harsh--I was simply thorough, letting the birch do most of the work. My strokes were slow and solid and well-placed, and soon Jessie was writhing in agony, whimpering and begging me for mercy. Her backside was criss-crossed with thin red marks and I began to thrash the backs of her legs, making Jessie bend forward and present her thighs and buttocks to me.

After several dozen strokes the first birch was ruined, the branches broken and coming apart and buds fallen off. I casually and very obviously went and picked up a fresh birch, bringing new terror and tears to the wide eyes of the trembling Jessie.

The second birch I used harder, raining the blows down slightly faster, the cuts sharper and more cruel. Jessie began to cry loudly, moaning and sobbing. Her cries excited me, and I began to thrash her violently, mindlessly, my arm wild and out of control. My eyes drank in the sight of poor Jessie's punished posterior and I delighted in the scores of welts and darkening bruises appearing across the formerly snowy flesh and round bottom.

It was during this whipping that I lost all connection with Jessie. Her cries spurred me on and I flogged without feeling her pain. I was angry--livid, in fact. In truth I was angry with myself, for I had grown to hate my reputation and stick-up-the-arse manner. But at the time I could not see that. I thought I was angry at Jessie, though I did not know why. My sin was far greater than hers as I took out my anger on her backside. I blamed her for my own faults.

Jessie, to her credit, did not object to my severe discipline. She accepted it stoicly even though she had done nothing to deserve it. She accepted everything from me as though it was a caress. Even when I truly hurt her she did not protest but accepted it as her due. She was a marvelous person, far more mature than me.

Suddenly, in the midst of my passionate thrashing and Jessie's agonizing screams, I heard a voice. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, and it was so forceful and so overwhelming I obeyed it instantly, without realizing why.

"Erin O'Grady! That's enough!"

Immediately I threw the broken and splintered birch to the ground and weakly fell to my knees, my face stinging with reproach from the God-awful negative tone of the voice. I felt as though I'd been slapped. Tears watered my eyes and in a daze I glanced up and to my astonishment saw a huge white horse standing a mere ten feet from me, with the beautiful Miss Arler astride. She was dressed as I always remember her, in tight riding pants and boots and a snow-white blouse and tan vest. In her right hand was the long leather riding crop I knew so well, and this was raised and pointed directly at my heart.

"Miss Arler!" I gasped. Behind me I sensed Jessie collapsing and turning to see who had surprised us, and I heard her bursting into painful sobbing.

"Erin O'Grady, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! What is going on here? What has this girl done to deserve this?"

"S-she... she has been disobedient," I mumbled, wondering myself.

Miss Arler swiftly and elegantly dismounted, sending chills through my body she was so graceful and beautiful. The sight of her crop made me feel weak in the belly. She walked over to were I knelt in the grass.

"Has she?" The flap of the crop touched the underside of my chin, raising my head until my eyes looked squarely into the blinding brilliance of Miss Arler's gaze.

"No, ma'am," I said softly, humbly. I was amazed at my transformation. My entire body felt powerless and numb. I was hers. Miss Arler could command me as she always had and I would obey instantly, without a thought.

"Just as I thought. You were whipping her for yourself, were you not?"

"Yes, ma'am," I breathed, impressed with the woman's perception.

"And was that fair or just?"

"No, ma'am."

"Should you be punished?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How severely?"

"Most severely, ma'am. I deserved to be flogged."

My spirit was collapsing. I could feel it. I felt like a small child again, dominated and controlled. I was nothing, a tetse fly, a worm. This woman was a superior being to me. I did not deserve to lick the soles of her boots. Even Jessie, huddling near me, was far above me.

Without a glance at Jessie, from whom radiated astonishment and fear, I stood and began to strip. In a moment I was naked, and I crawled on my hands and knees to Miss Arler and began kissing her boots. She laughed gaily at my useless gesture.

"You think that will save you, my pretty Erin? I think not!"

Then a searing pain exploded across the cheeks of my arse. It was a hot lash from her crop, and the pain brought back memories of the countless times I had experienced discipline from her hand. My mind flashed through dozens of times of bending over during riding lessons, Ariana and the others watching, or private sessions in Miss Arler's office or home. I continued kissing the mistress' boots as the crop rained pain across my bum.

It was excruciating. I'd forgotten how stingy the crop was. It had been over a year since I'd had anything worse than the slipper. I was sorely out of practice. But Miss Arler gave no quarter. She thrashed me for what seemed like hours, weeks, months, years. I soon forgot everything: where I was, Jessie, my nudity, even the whipping. All I could think about was the hot fluids of life coursing through my body in a furious rage. I hadn't felt them in a year and now it seemed I'd surely explode.

When I was sure I'd had enough, and positive Miss Arler had to be exhausted, I saw her go and fetch the third and last bundle of birches. I gurgled out a moan of protest. Surely she didn't expect me to take a birching too! I was exhausted. There was nowhere for me to go. I had no strength left. I could take no more. Couldn't she see that?

But Miss Arler knew me better than I knew myself. She thrashed me soundly with that birch and somehow I did take it, though not quietly. I howled and screamed and finally even Jessie, still suffering from her own dose of the birch, pleaded with the riding instructor that I'd had enough.

Miss Arler relented, saying that perhaps I'd had enough "for now." She caressed young Jessie's cheek and told her she was a kind-hearted girl and deserved better than a despicable mistress like me.

"Come along," she told us. "Gather your things and follow me. Do not even think of getting dressed."

Tearfully, we grabbed our clothes and Jessie also took the empty knapsack and we followed Miss Arler as she lead her horse over the hill toward the west. Though I was in a terrible state of humiliation and agony, watching Miss Arler as she walked before us brought back so many powerful memories so intently that I could scarcely think straight. I both dreaded and looked forward to whatever was to come. She was so beautiful and graceful. I longed for my own bottom to be so shapely in a pair of tight riding pants.

Miss Arler led us to a small stream and had us bathe each other. I was not allowed to wash myself, but had to stand in the icy water while Jessie gathered cold handfuls of water and rubbed them over my blazing body. Then I did the same for her. Both of us were crying as much as laughing, for the water was so cold it numbed the flesh and felt good, but our skin was so sore touching it with anything, even water, was pure agony.

When we were clean we had to dress, and that was pure hell. Despite the shame of being naked, it was far preferable to clothes hugging the tender skin. We managed it, however, and then followed the teacher as she took us on a short cut to the stables, barely two minutes away. It was late afternoon when we arrived, and Miss Arler had me help groom her horse. When we were finished we took a ride in her car. Neither Jessie nor I even asked where we were going. Jessie, I'm sure, assumed we would be returning to the school. But I knew better. We went straight to Miss Arler's house, and from there she called the school to let them know we'd be having dinner with her and she'd bring us around late that evening. The headmistress apparently agreed, for Miss Arler put down the phone and turned to us with a large, wicked smile. She moved her favorite straight-backed armless chair to the center of the room and sat down.

"Off with those clothes, the both of you. Your discipline has yet to begin."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 30
More Miss Arler

(*****, F/ff, f/f, ff/F, Edgy, Teen discipline)

Two naughty girls are severely punished. (Approximately 3,032 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Jessie's face was pale and frightened, but she watched me undress without hesitation and did the same for herself. When we were both naked again, our bottoms still throbbing, Miss Arler focused her attention upon Jessie.

"What is your name?"

"J-Jessie, ma'am."

"Good. Now I assume you know why you are here? You have been a very naughty girl."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now I haven't spanked you yet, so please, come over here and get across my lap."

With a blink or two at me, Jessie walked forward and laid herself across the woman's lap. Jessie's bare bottom looked painfully exposed when she was in that position, her arms reaching toward the floor to brace herself.

Miss Arler rubbed and pinched the girl's bottom a few times and then began to spank her with the palm of her hand. It didn't seem very harsh, but I knew that Miss Arler was just getting warmed up. Jessie was wiggling and saying "Oh!" over and over again. She appeared to be very surprised to be in the position she was in, and that a hand spanking hurt so much. I'm sure many things were confusing her. I wished I had a chance to talk with her and explain.

The spanking was a long one--a good twenty minutes of solid bottom-pounding. Jessie stood up amazed at how sore she was when it was over. Her expression was one of a prisoner suddenly released from the hanging noose. She couldn't believe it was over.

It was my turn next, and my spanking was much longer--a half hour, at least. (I watched the clock--if I'd gone by what I thought I'd have estimated in the sixteen hour range. It felt like forever.)

After the spankings Jessie and I were relegated to separate corners for a half-hour's contemplation while Miss Arler prepared supper. When the meal was ready, we were marched into the kitchen. Before being allowed to sit and eat, however, we each had to kneel on our chairs and thrust out our fiendishly sore bottoms for two dozen wallops with a thick wooden paddle.

"Thank you, Miss Arler," I said when I'd received my two dozen.

"You are welcome, Erin."

Jessie watched us and then tentative said, "T-thank you, Miss--Miss Arler."

Miss Arler beamed at the girl. "Very good, Jessie. You are learning very well."

Jessie blushed and smiled as though she'd won a medal, and then we both sat awkwardly on our chairs and tried to eat the delicious meal of spaghetti Miss Arler had prepared. At first eating was the last thing we wanted to do, but soon we discovered we were hungry, and the meal was very good, with hot rolls just from the oven. We ate until we burped, and then Miss Arler excused us (one at a time), to use the facilities if we needed.

"There won't be time later," she hinted, and Jessie and I glanced at each other in fear.

After the meal, however, Miss Arler did not spank us as I had feared. Instead she had us help with the dishes, which we were happy to do, and she asked us questions about school and she glibly told stories of her days at school. It was obvious she was glad to have us there, and soon we were glad to be there too, though I knew Miss Arler too well to doubt that we'd leave without profound memories in the form of thick red strikes across our behinds.

We sipped sodas in the living room and chatted for at least an hour, until it grew dark outside. Miss Arler went and closed the blinds, then, and went to her room for a bit. The house was very still and silent, and though I wanted to whisper something comforting to Jessie, I didn't dare. Instead I took her hand in mine and squeezed it, hoping she'd understand. She glanced up at me, her eyes wide but I saw she wasn't as frightened as I expected. In fact, there was a look of admiration and amazement in her eyes. I didn't know what to make of it.

Minutes later, when Miss Arler emerged from her room, she was entirely naked. She didn't seem the least bit self-conscious as she walked toward us and set down a pile of canes, whips, and paddles on the coffee table, and then left to fetch another load. Jessie's eyes were larger than saucers she was so astonished. She could not take her eyes off Miss Arler's slender form as she stood arranging the implements on the table. Though I'd seen Miss Arler nude before, I was once again impressed with and jealous of her beauty. I'd always wished that I could look as relaxed and sexual as she could.

"Jessie, I think I'll begin with you," Miss Arler said sternly, and picked up a large flat paddle. It was a thin one, which told me we'd be in for a long paddling. Jessie, though nervous and pale, nodded obediently and went across Miss Arler's lap.

The paddling was indeed long and painful. Each stroke was loud and covered poor Jessie's petite bottom completely. Miss Arler wasn't gentle at all, but paddled the girl as hard as she could. Jessie was wailing and shivering, sobbing with pain. But Miss Arler had some mercy at least--she stopped earlier than I thought she would and helped the weeping Jessie into a sitting position on her lap. Jessie couldn't stop crying as Miss Arler caressed her hair and whispered soothing words to her.

"That was just a sample," said Miss Arler. "It wasn't so bad. But I know you are already very sore. You are doing wonderful, my dear. You are very lovely as you are spanked, do you know that?"

"R-really?" sniffed Jessie.

"Absolutely gorgeous. But you have a great deal more to learn. I'm afraid you will have to come back here to me for frequent lessons."

Jessie's eyes were locked into Miss Arler's when she spoke those words and instantly I knew I'd lost my best friend. Oh, she'd still be friends with me, certainly, but I knew it would never be the same between us again. Jessie was Miss Arler's pet now. I could see that. I would only be a pale shadow in comparison. Jessie had had a taste of paradise and wouldn't return to my neighborhood.

Miss Arler kissed the girl on the forehead. "Now you must also learn to wield the paddle. Have you paddled anyone before?"

"No, ma'am," whispered Jessie, a touch of awe in her voice.

"Well, you must learn. Why don't you begin on Erin, there. She deserves a long hard paddling. Erin, stand up! Jessie, tell her what position you'd like her in."

I stood up nervously, my face growing red at the thought of being spanked by my former slave. But there was no way I was going to disobey Miss Arler. Following Jessie's orders, I bent over and grasped by ankles as though awaiting a caning. But it was the wooden paddle that met my behind. Not just once but many times, and many paddles. Jessie had to try out each of the paddles in Miss Arler's extensive collection. There were pick thick heavy paddles that required two hands to swing and nearly knocked me over. There were small thin paddles that smacked just one cheek at a time. There were leather paddles, stiff ones and flexible ones, narrow ones and wide ones. Jessie gave me a dozen or two of each, gradually learning the subtlties of each implement. After Jessie finished with me Miss Arler would give her a half dozen strokes so she would also know what it felt like. So while I stood awkwardly bent over in my miserable position, Jessie got spanked across Miss Arler's lap, and it seemed to me the woman spent almost as much caressing the girl's bottom as she did spanking it!

After my paddling, I was sent to the corner. Behind me I heard Miss Arler telling Jessie that it was her turn now. I glanced behind me and saw that Miss Arler had spread herself across the arm of the sofa, her naked legs dangling off the end. Her beautiful white bottom was propped up wonderfully, just waiting for the kiss of the paddle. Jessie was standing behind the woman, her face flushed with confusion, the large thin paddle in her hand.

"Go ahead," ordered Miss Arler. "You'll know when to stop."

Hesitantly at first, and rapidly gaining courage, Jessie began to spank her new mistress. She paddled hard and loudly, and I saw she turned the paddle to catch the underside and sides of Miss Arler's impressive backside so that no part of it was neglected. The paddling lasted a long time. Miss Arler didn't made a sound for the first fifteen minutes or so, but then she began to moan slightly, and wiggle her bum. It was obvious the spanking was finally getting to her. But Jessie paddled on, her own breath coming in pants and gasps, her naked body glistening with sweat as she worked very hard to punish her mistress.

Finally, when even I was beginning to wonder how much longer this could continue, I saw Jessie begin to slow. Her face was puzzled. I saw the problem immediately--individual strokes of the paddle no longer had any effect at all. She'd smack Miss Arler and there would be no response. It took a series of blows, very hard and very fast, to elicit any cry or grunt of Miss Arler's tightly closed mouth.

Jessie glanced up at me in puzzlement, and I pointedly looked at the table. Jessie grinned and set down the paddle, picking up a long heavy strip of leather. It was about four or five inches wide, but thick, and I knew it would sting very badly, especially on such a sore behind. Miss Arler had her eyes shut and was wiggling on the couch arm. She had no idea what was happening as Jessie lifted her arm with the strap.

The crack was loud but Miss Arler's painful gasp was even louder. She hissed and writhed on the sofa, her eyes wide with alarm. She did not protest, however, but merely whimpered as the strap came down again and again on her unprotected bottom.

Jessie, poor little innocent Jessie, so gentle and kind, thrashed that woman harder and longer than I had ever seen anyone thrashed. Miss Arler's beautiful bottom was a purple and black mess, throbbing with bright red patches and thick angry welts. The woman was never silent now, but moaned constantly, even when she wasn't being whipped.

Miss Arler, standing stiffly, ordered me sternly: "Take that damn strap and give the girl a taste of her own medicine!"

I didn't have to be asked twice--I snatched the leather from Jessie and bent her across the sofa arm. In seconds Jessie was howling at the top of her lungs, the heavy strap leaving thick pulsing welts across her naked arse. I whipped her hard and fast, not even giving her time to breathe or really feel the strokes. It was simply cold, brutal punishment. Excitement surged through my body as I watched Jessie writhing and weeping, her bottom glowing and hot.

When I finished, Miss Arler had me take Jessie's place, and Jessie gave me the strap. I was already quite sore, and the stinging of the heavy strap brought hot tears flooding down my face. I was in terrible pain and very glad when it was over, my buttocks and legs throbbing with countless welts and bruises. But I knew our little session with Miss Arler wasn't over, for neither of us had felt the cane, and Miss Arler always finished with the cane.

Sure enough, as I stood up from my whipping, groaning and aching to rub my backside, I saw Miss Arler sorting through her selection of canes. As I watched she chose a long thin brown one and bent it nearly double, and then swished it through the air a few times. Satisfied, she nodded at me. Without a word of protest I bent over and grabbed my ankles, keeping my legs as straight as I could. My bottom was already very tender.

The first stroke sounded like a gunshot, and took my breath away. The second brought tears to my eyes, and by the third I was crying openly. I couldn't help myself--the thin strokes seemed to cut my ass in two and the burning seemed to intensify after the cane left my body.

Somehow I stood like that and received six of the best from Miss Arler, the fourth one right in the hypersensitive crease between my bottom and my thighs and the last two criss-crossing the earlier strokes across my full cheeks. It was as precise and thorough a caning as I'd ever gotten, and it had been so long since I'd felt such swelling pain I'd forgotten just how intense and overwhelming it could be. I was devastated.

But it wasn't over. Miss Arler bade me to stay in position and passed the cane to Jessie, quietly explaining to her what should be done. Though she'd never used the cane before, Jessie was a quick study. She gave me six of her best, and while they weren't as elegant as Miss Arler's, and a few strokes went unexpectedly wild, the strokes still hurt a great deal.

Then it was Jessie's turn, and she began sobbing on Miss Arler's second stroke, a brutal cut right across the fullest part of her rump. Six times the cane flashed down, and I saw it was all Jessie could do not to scream. But she seemed determined not to seem afraid in front of Miss Arler, and accepted her punishment without complaint though she shed a great many tears.

After the six, I took the cane handed to me and proceeded to give Jessie six of my best, and these were almost as perfect as Miss Arler's. Jessie howled and wiggled but fortunately for her bottom's sake, did not break position. When it was over Jessie's rump was nearly purple and criss-crossed with deep red stripes. It would be days before she sat down properly again.

I turned to give the cane back to Miss Arler but she was bent over, her glorious behind thrust upward and outward. "Give me a dozen," she said firmly, her jaw set rigidly. "Then it will be Jessie's turn."

I did not argue but nodded, and proceeded to thrash my former teacher within an inch of her life. She gasped out loud at my sharp strokes, and Jessie watched me with her mouth hanging open. She could not believe the force I was using--I'm sure it looked astonishing that the cane didn't break.

Jessie had learned a great deal caning me and caned Miss Arler with more confidence. Her strokes were harder and better placed, and Jessie seemed less intimidated by the incredible pain she knew she was inflicting. Miss Arler wept and wiggled slightly, but did not make a sound. Her breathing was loud and strained, and when it was over and she stood up, we knew she had indeed been hurt.

"T-that-that was excellent, girls, both of you. Very well done."

"Thank you, Miss Arler," whispered Jessie, and I voiced my agreement.

"I think I should be getting you to back to school," Miss Arler said, but Jessie and I both noticed the sad tone in her voice. We nodded and hung our heads. Despite everything we'd endured, the thought of leaving the delightful presence of Miss Arler depressed us.

"May-may we clean up first?" asked Jessie.

Miss Arler beamed. "Excellent idea, my child. We have all exerted ourselves a great deal. Let's take a shower and then we shall put ointment on our wounds."

What followed was a blissful dream--the three of us in the shower together, our nude bodies bumping and rubbing, the cool water caressing our hot flesh, the slippery soap greasing down our sleek skin. We giggled and poked and prodded one another, relaxed and comfortable with our nakedness. We told each other that we were beautiful, and it was afterward, standing before the large mirror, that I saw something that astonished me: I had grown in the last few years and my body had fleshed out. Standing next to Miss Arler I was surprised to note that I was nearly as tall as her and my body similar in shape. The firm, graceful bottom of my teacher that I'd so admired and coveted was actually mine. I had grown into a woman without realizing it!

After drying off we went into Miss Arler's bedroom and stretched out on her bed and she creamed us, rubbing a cold but soothing ointment into our sore behinds and legs. Then Jessie and I did Miss Arler, massaging the cream deep into the bruised flesh of her ass.

Shortly after that it was over, and Jessie and I stood outside the gate of St. Esther's. We silently watched Miss Arler drive off. I looked at Jessie and my heart went cold--she gazed off into the night with the same expression she used to reserve for me. I knew at that moment that she was gone, that she was no longer mine to command.

"We'd better go in," I whispered. She nodded, scarcely hearing me. She was lost in a real-life fantasy world.

"Isn't she beautiful?" she breathed finally.

"Yes, she is beautiful," I agreed.

"Do you think I will see her again?"

"If she wishes it, and I suspect she does."

We went through the gate then, and I felt a great sadness and longing. I missed my private times with Miss Arler, when I looked at her the way Jessie now did. I missed Jessie already, for her heart was no longer mine. My world was changing. I was growing up, and wasn't sure I liked the results.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 31
Mutiny I

(****, fffff/f, Severe, Teen caning)

The tables are turned on Erin. (Approximately 1,722 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Two days after our session with Miss Arler I heard that Jessie was to be taking riding lessons. Jessie didn't tell me, but when I asked her, she looked away and nodded. I knew she felt badly for me, but she could not deny her attraction to Miss Arler. On Saturday she left for her first lesson. I felt very alone.

I watched Jessie drift away from me. I felt disappointed and betrayed, but I also understood--Miss Arler was difficult to resist, especially when you were what she wanted. Knowing it would be useless to fight her, I let Jessie go. Our discipline sessions grew shorter and shorter, and even those we had seemed uncomfortable, as though we were suddenly strangers.

Without Jessie to occupy my time, I grew more and more depressed. I became even stricter with my charges, becoming the prefect from hell. I thrashed girls for the most minor of offenses, and I was never gentle or forgiving. Everyone avoided me, and I avoided anyone who didn't. I wanted to be alone. I drove people away from me.

One day I heard that there was a telephone call for me in the main hall. The girl who told me didn't know who it was, but I suspected it was my father. I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered a magazine article on trains I'd clipped to tell my Dad about, since he's a model railroad collector. I quickly ran back to my room. As I opened the door I was shocked to discover a girl inside. She had her back to me, bending low near the head of my bed.

"What's going on!" I cried, and when the girl stood I recognized her as one of the juniors under my charge. "Margot! What are you doing?" The girl had turned white and was speechless with fright, which led me to the conclusion that her actions had to be mischievous.

I pushed passed her. Hidden behind the headboard of my bed I discovered a half-full bottle of whiskey. Opening the top I sniffed. Indeed, it was alcohol. I glared at Margot.

"I don't know what this is about, Margot, but you and I are visiting the Head!"

Poor Margot looked crestfallen, but nodded sadly. Gripping her arm with one hand, and carrying the bottle in the other, we emerged from my room. Margot stiffened as others in the hallway could see us. I couldn't figure out the girl's motivation in attempting to frame me--she and I had never been seriously at odds. I had to cane her occasionally, but I caned everyone. But I didn't have time to worry myself.

"I've got to get to my phone call," I said.

"That won't be necessary," said a new voice. I turned. Coming up the hallway were several girls, all juniors in my charge. There was Sari, the tall blond who had spoken, and her friends Alice, Erica, and Monique.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no phone call. It was a ruse."

"Ah, so you were in on this?"

Sari and the others nodded, their faces grim and without remorse. This puzzled me. I decided that perhaps it would be better for me to deal with this personally, even though something as serious as alcohol possession was really in the Headmistress' jurisdiction.

"Downstairs, everyone," I announced.

The faces of the girls were hard, almost cruel in their stifled rage. But they obeyed, walking slowly ahead of me down the stairs to the boiler room. They knew without anyone spelling it out for them that this was to be a most severe caning. As a prefect, getting caught with alcohol would have gotten me a couple dozen from the Head, plus the loss of my prefectship. These girls needed to suffer.

In the boiler room I closed the door and made the girls line up before me. "What happens here will remain between us," I said. "Is that understood?"

The girls nodded, somewhat relieved that the Head was being kept out of it. They would have been in serious trouble if I'd turned them in. Not only for possession of alcohol, but for also for trying to frame me.

"I must admit, Sari, I'm both shocked and puzzled by your little plot. It's obvious you wanted to get me in trouble, but why? What have I done to any of you?"

For a long while the girls didn't speak, but only exchanged covert glances. Finally Sari spoke, brave and bold. "You want to know why we did this?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes."

"Well, it's simple. We wanted you to get the stick."

"But why?"

"Cause you're always giving it to us."

"That's my job. I'm a prefect."

"Yeah, but you enjoy it too much. Last week you gave six to Erica just for chewing gum!"

"And you gave me the slipper for giggling after lights out," added Monique.

"Ha!" exclaimed Alice. "I got the slipper for just having one knee sock a hair shorter than the other!"

"The point is," Sari said, glaring at her friends to calm down, "is that you use any excuse to punish us. I don't mind taking what I deserve, but lately you damn near whack us for breathing!"

"That's the slipper for swearing!" I started to say, then caught myself. Was it true? Had I turned into a tyrant? I saw dull anger and coldness on the faces of the girls. They resented me tremendously, and didn't regret their little stunt at all. No doubt they'd half expected to get caught, but just the chance of me getting caned had seemed worth the risk. They weren't cowards--their bravery was evident in the way they'd stepped in to protect Margot. With a sick heart I realized there was a great deal of truth to their words.

"You really hate me that much?" I collapsed on a bench. My mind was spinning. Though I wasn't close to any of the girls, I'd always liked to think they respected me.

The girls looked at each other, puzzled. Sari shrugged. "We just wish you'd lay off a little."

A bizarre idea came to my head. It had been a long time since my last bout with the cane. Perhaps I'd forgotten some things. I stood and fetched the senior cane from its hiding place in the corner. The girls trembled as I approached.

"Six each," I said firmly, hopping I didn't regret my decision.

Sari's mouth dropped open. Margot's brown eyes swelled. All the girls were stunned.

"Yes, ma'am," said Sari, almost eagerly, reaching for her skirt.

I shook my head. "No need for that." I handed her the cane. "You go first. I've decided you're right. I have been a bitch."

I walked to the center of the room and unhitched my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Without pausing I pulled my panties down to my ankles and stepped out of them. Kicking them aside, I grasped my ankles and held on for dear life.

"Make them count," I muttered to Sari, who stood holding the cane like it was a snake.

For a long time no one moved, then I heard soft footsteps behind me. Sari was standing there, tears in her gentle blue eyes. She knelt low, next to my ear. "These are going to hurt," she whispered. I nodded, bracing myself.

The first strike wasn't that hard, but it was well-aimed. The next two were slightly harder, and landed right on top of the first. With a gulp I realized what Sari was doing. She gave me all six in the same spot, the last couple causing me to gasp slightly.

Margot was next. It was obvious she'd never caned a girl before. Her strokes were more enthusiasm than strength. They were a touch wild, hitting me inconsistently. A couple caught me low, across the top of my thighs, but I didn't say a word.

Finished, Margot gave the cane to Alice, another novice. The problem with the cane, however, is that even a six-year-old with a broken arm can make it hurt. Especially if your bum has already taken a dozen. Tears came to my eyes during Erica's thrashing. My bottom was beginning to feel like I'd taken a dozen from Headmistress.

Erica took the cane for her strikes. I didn't know if she'd ever had experience on that end of the stick, but she sure used her knowledge of the receiving end to give me six crackers that had me on tiptoes, sweating, and moaning. My arse was crisscrossed with painful weals.

The last was Monique. I knew from conversations with her that she'd gotten the cane at home from her father, and apparently she'd learned a lot from watching him whip her older brother. Though she was smallest of the five girls, her six were the worst. Each whippy stroke was precisely placed and well-balanced, spreading the pain across my arse in an even line. On the third blow I howled and broke down into tears. It wasn't that the pain was actually that bad--I've stood worse for Miss Arler without blinking--but I needed the release. I let my dripping tears take away my guilt. Also, I reasoned, the girls would benefit from seeing me humbled.

When it was over I stood slowly, my arse stiff and crackling, the weals throbbing. I could belittle it as much as I'd like, but it didn't change the fact that I'd be feeling these welts for a week.

Sari stepped over to me, tears gleaming in her eyes. She gave me a broad embrace, and then the others stepped forward and we did the group hug thing, everyone pounding me on the back and telling me what a good sport I was. I felt much better and wiped the tears from eyes, grinning at the girls.

"Thanks, girls," I said, fetching my clothing and putting it back on. "I guess I really deserved that."

"I take back everything bad I said or thought about you," said Margot boldly, holding out her hand to me. I shook it solemnly, and then did the same with the others.

"Good." I said. "Now there's one more thing..."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 32
Mutiny II

(***, f/fffff, Severe, Teen caning)

Erin fights back. (Approximately 967 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"What is it?" asked Sari.

I fetched the cane from the floor where it had been left. "I am still a prefect, and you all did a terrible thing. I agree that I gave you undue motivation and I've been well-punished, but you five cannot escape this unscathed. Skirts off. It's six of the best for each of you!"

There were gasps and groans from the girls. Sari gave a deep sigh. "This is for the whiskey, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "You can take it from me or visit the Head. Which is it to be?"

There were no hesitations: the girls quickly began to remove their skirts and underwear. They knew six was merciful on my part--it was merely a reminder of their place.

"Let's do a round-robin," I said, wanting to draw this out as long as possible. "Everyone line up in a row."

Obediently the girls gathered together side-by-side and bent over, clutching at their ankles. I looked at the row of bare bums before me with real pleasure. This was going to be fun!

"Anyone who gets up before I give the word is getting a dozen with the slipper!"

I approached Margot, who was the leftmost girl. Whipping the cane through the air I gave her a deep strike at the lowest portion of her haunches, drawing a loud yelp of pain from her lips. She held her position, however. A dull crimson line appeared across her lower buttocks.

Alice was next in line, and I placed hers diagonally, letting the tip sink deep into her right cheek. Monique I did horizontally but high, where there isn't much padding. She began to cry but didn't get up. Sari's stroke was right in the middle of her plump arse and as hard as I could make it, with plenty of wrist action to really whip the rattan into her. Erica gasped when I struck her, for I'd stepped back so the tip of the cane buried itself into the crack of her ass. It meant the blow didn't cross both cheeks, but the flesh hidden in the crack is by far the most sensitive, and Erica's crack was deep and presented a compelling target.

After the first round, I paused to admire my work. Five trembling girls were bent over in front of me, arses wiggling, each set of pale cheeks marked with a pencil-thick weal that pulsed and throbbed with what I knew was unbearable agony. Worse was the waiting, holding the awkward position and listening to the others receive their strokes, knowing that soon it would be your turn again.

I went through the girls slowly and carefully, caning each in turn. I varied my strokes as the first time, using every trick I'd learned from my extensive experience with both sides of the stick. For each girl I gave them a couple diagonals, struck them in the same weal twice, and of course the lower strokes, just above the thighs. I also made sure each girl got a taste of the tip in their crack, and two of the girls, Monique and Alice, screamed and stood up when I did that. I didn't say a word and they immediately got back in position, sobbing like babies, knowing what that had just cost them.

When the six rounds were done, I didn't let the girls up immediately, but studied them from behind, watching them struggle to hold the arched position. Their bums were well-thrashed, but we all knew they deserved it and more. In fact, I could see Sari smiling with relief that their punishment had been so minor.

"All right. Everyone up but the two I'm not finished with yet."

Monique and Alice groaned as everyone else stood stiffly and began to dress. I put the cane away and got the old slipper we keep in the corner. It's so well worn it's nearly a leather strap the sole is so supple. I walked up behind Alice and quickly and brutally gave her six scorchers on her left cheek. She squealed the whole time but didn't get up. Monique took hers with slightly more dignity, but I knew the leather really stung. I went right on and gave her six on her right cheek, drawing forth low gutteral sounds and whimpers. Then it was back to poor Alice, who was having trouble staying in position. Sure enough, her wiggling got the best of her and during the four whack her hands slipped and she half-stood, sobbing as she bent back over. I gave her the fourth blow again, then five and six.

"Stand up!" I ordered, pulling the girl to her feet. She stood shaking. I pushed her feet together with my foot, and brought her hands to the back of her neck. I patted her rear with the slipper. "Relax."

When the cheeks were soft I brought the slipper down as hard as I could, a vertical blow right into her crack. Alice howled and wiggled. Again and again I walloped her in the same spot, watching as the edges of the pale flesh in her crack turned pink and then brilliant red. After the sixth blow I stopped.

"Put this away," I said, handing Alice the slipper. Sniffling, she nodded and ran off, eager to escape. Turning to Sari, I pointed at the bottle of whiskey I'd left near the door.

"Don't you think we have some evidence to get rid of?"

Sari's pretty face slowly beamed as she caught my meaning. She quickly darted to get the bottle. There was just enough for each of us to get a good swig. With all the sore bums in that room, we sure needed it!


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 33
The Fall from Grace

(****, f/m, F/f, M/m, Severe, Teen sex, caning)

Erin finds a new boyfriend and earns them both a public caning. (Approximately 2,976 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

After the mutiny, I calmed down for a few weeks. I made efforts to be friendly with the other girls, and the story of my caning by Sari and the others boosted my reputation considerably. Still, my feelings were vague. I found little satisfaction in my prefectship. I felt adrift. I was no longer sure what I wanted. There was no Miss Arler or Ariana to instruct and guide me. I would lie awake at nights dreaming of them, wishing I could be under their control for even a few precious moments. With them, I had a purpose, a function. Alone I was nothing.

But there was no one. Even Jessie was gone, off in her own world. She barely seemed to recognize me any more. One day I caught her alone and fabricated some offense regarding her uniform and took up my slipper to discipline her. She obeyed me willingly, bending right over. But I could see in her face that she knew my excuse was flimsy, and worse, that she resented it. She resented my subjucation of her. She was not mine to control any more. After the fourth half-hearted wallop I let her go, knowing that the punishment only brought us pain, no amusement or excitement.

I was alone.

Towards the end of the year I discovered a new method of combating my loneliness: boys. I visited several from St. Andrew's during late-night rendezvous. It was frightfully risky, of course, but I thrived on the danger. Besides, I was desperate for companionship. Now I don't want to make it sound like I didn't have friends -- I had plenty of those -- but what I wanted was intimacy, powerful emotional connections like I'd had with Ariana, Miss Arler, and briefly, with Jessie.

The first couple of boys I met were crude brutes who wanted nothing but my body, and while that was temporarily pleasurable, it left me feeling more empty than ever. The third boy I met was named Samuel. He was a quiet boy, reserved and shy, the complete opposite of me. He was intelligent and loved to talk, however, and most important, he loved to listen. He was a friend of Peter, the second boy I'd gone out with, and I noticed him one night when I'd gone to meet Peter.

It was pitch dark along the edge of the woods where I usually met Peter. I'd been waiting for near twenty minutes, growing impatient and angry (and impossibly horny), when I heard a sound. Naturally I became alert, worried that it might be an administrator, that perhaps Peter was late because he'd been caught by a prefect or teacher. But then I saw the sillouette of a small boy and got up, thinking it was Peter. I ran and kissed him on the cheek.

"That's a jolly way to greet a chap," said a grinning voice that's wasn't Peter's.

"You bastard!" I shouted, and my hand darted up to slap the boy. He dodged my blow, grabbing my wrist.

"None of that, now, lassie. I'm just here to give you a message from Peter."

"Well, what is it?"

"He can't make it. He's in the infirmary with the trots."

"Blast it all!" I cried, a bit too loud, and the boy quickly thrust his hand over my mouth.

"Crimney, girl! Are you _trying_ to get us caught? I'd take the cane with pleasure to acquaint myself with a girl like you, but I'm out here risking my arse for nothing."

And this point, my horniness got the better of me, and I started noticing that this was a handsome boy, if a bit academic-looking. Since Peter was out of the picture, wouldn't he do?

"Just what sort of acquaintance did you have in mind?" I said brashly, pressing myself against him. He was too stunned to answer. He stepped back, his outstretched palms coming in direct contact with my breasts.

"Oh!" he cried in embarrassment, taking his hands away. I pressed further into him.

"You'd really take the cane to be with me?" I asked.

He looked up at me, lips shifting nervously, his eyes vague round shapes in the darkness. "Uh, certainly," he said slowly. "There aren't many girls as fine as you."

"I have half a mind to test you on that," I said, pressing full against him, my nipples against his chest. My hands fumbled with the buckle on his pants and he gasped in horror as they dropped to his ankles. He started to bend down to retrieve them when I hugged him tightly, keeping him from moving.

"Leave them down," I said, and he nodded, dumbly. I could feel his erection against my thigh. It aroused me even more, and I knew I'd have this boy tonight. I kissed him then, long and hard, and I could feel the boy melting in my arms. He was mine.

I didn't say a word but turned and walked into the woods. He followed, eager as a puppy. We walked a long ways from the school, into a private clearing in a grove where Peter and I usually lie, before we spoke.

"But you're Peter's girl," he whispered nervously. "This isn't right. Peter's my friend."

"I'm nobody's 'girl.' If I want you I can have you."

The boy's face flushed with excitement at the concept that I wanted him. I knew immediately that I was his first girl, and that gave me a delectable thrill. I wanted to savor this, draw it out.

I crossed the clearing to the other side so he could watch me. There I carefully began to remove my clothes. I took everything off, knowing that the moonlight made my nudity even more exciting. Then, with his eyes burning holes into me, I selected a stout branch from a birch and broke it off the tree. Walking back to the boy, the branch partially concealing my body, I tore off the tiny limbs and stripped the rod clean.

The boy was frozen at the edge of the clearing, his mouth agape, his breathing rapid. He looked terrified, as though I was an exotic alien being from another galaxy, come to devour him, and yet he seemed perfectly willing to allow me to devour him.

"Let us see if your words match your actions," I said. "Strip and kneel, and take your stripes!" I swished the rod through the air, the slight whipping sound as exhilerating as it was frightening.

Gasping, the boy began to tear off his clothes. He didn't say anything, but ripped everything off in a haphazard fashion, tossing them into the bushes. When he was completely naked, he started to kneel. I stopped him with the rod, and then inspected him, running the rod across his naked flesh. I ran it down his back, across his firm bum, down his legs, and then drew it up the other side, pausing for a long time around his impressive cock, stiff and already oozing with anticipation.

"Kneel," I said, and he obeyed instantly. Without warning I brought the rod hard across his bum. It didn't make much of a sound -- nothing like a cane -- but the boy tensed and I saw a thin line appear across his cheeks. He quivered, shivering, his naked skin covered with goosepimples from the chilly night air.

"Do you like that?"

"Oh, please, Miss," he whispered, his voice rattling like gravel under a heavy truck.

I gave him another stripe, and then another. The boy groaned and leaned forward, arching his back and thrusting his buttocks upward. I striped him some more, and he cried out in pain.

"Let me see it," I said, and when he sat up I saw that his cock was larger than ever, drooling from the tip. I touched it with the rod and it was too much for him. He spurted suddenly. With a gasp of shame he grasped it in his hands and bent forward, hiding it from me as he convulsed wildly.

"You bastard! I wanted to see it!" I cried out, furious at him. I struck his backside with the rod again and again, striping him thoroughly, but he ignored me, lying curled up in a shuddering ball.

When he finally stopped quivering I stopped the lashing, biding him to stand. He was shrunken now, but I quickly remedied that problem. We lay together in the woods, and it was incredibly passionate.

It was far different from anything I'd experienced with Peter or other boys. I was attracted by Samuel's clear adoration of me, his innocence, and his willingness to suffer discipline for me. Indeed, this soon became our routine. Each time we met Samuel consented to a whipping from me to earn his fucking, and the severity of both increased as time went on.

One night -- it must have been our fifth or sixth outing -- Samuel and I were in the middle of our passion when we heard voices. It was terrifying, knowing people were so close by, but we were so near to release neither of us could stop. I gripped Samuel's scorched bum even tighter, pulling him into me, as we both convulsed in wild excitement at the illicitness of our actions.

Right as we collapsed in relief, rolling off each other, panting heavily, the bushes parted above my head and I saw the upside-down figure of Mr. Davely, the Headmaster of St. Andrew. Immediately I saw my error. Obviously, for him to find us so precisely, he had to have been told. And who knew about this place _and_ had reason to hate me?

I began to laugh and giggle at my foolishness, not even caring that my amusement angered the headmaster even more. I lay spread out naked before him, unashamed, and grinned at him, though I dimly felt my world falling apart around me. This did not bode well for my future.

My punishment was not announced to me until late the next morning, in headmistress Thornley's office. I waited by myself in there for nearly two hours before she returned from her meeting with Mr. Davely, as the two had conspired on the appropriate punishments for Samuel and me. I felt a touch sorry for Samuel -- I'd really blistered him the previous night, and now we both surely faced a stiff beating.

The headmistress began by saying that they'd seriously considered our expulsion from the school, but decided that since there was less than a month to go before graduation, we'd both be spared that indignity. I felt grateful to the woman, and resolved to accept whatever punishment she had in mind, no matter how severe. I certainly knew I deserved it!

As I had expected, Thornley took away my prefectship. Worse, she informed me I'd be a lavatory duty until graduation, and I'd be forbidden to leave school grounds for any reason until then. Thornley made it clear I was to spend any free time studying or doing my chores.

"If anyone ever catches you slacking, young lady, you'll be in here for a taste of my cane and then I'll find something for you to do, and I can guarantee you that it won't be as pleasant as washing out the loos! So you keep your nose clean for the next few weeks and study like mad for your exams, and you'll graduate with the other girls of your class. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered. It didn't really sound that bad. In fact, I was pleased. I'd known for weeks that I need to get cracking on my books or I'd never pass my exams but somehow I'd lacked motivation. The threat of dreadful chores or Thornley's cane was inspiring.

"Now, as to your punishment."

This is it! I thought, my heart cold and stiff with horror. I watched as she went to her cane bin. She didn't take out her long senior cane as I expected, however, but took down the leather tawse from the hook on the wall. It had been years since I'd felt the tawse. I wondered if that meant she was saving the cane for later.

"I'm going to strap you," she said. "This only because I feel you deserve some sort of punishment immediately. Two days hence, on Monday, during a special evening assembly, you shall be publicly caned for your actions."

A chill passed through me. I pictured myself on stage in the assembly hall, everyone in school gathered to watch my disgrace. It did not sound pleasant at all. There would be many in the audience who would delight in my downfall.

There were few words from the headmistress that day. She mostly spoke to me with her leather strap. The tawse was wide and split into three stinging tails, and Thornley knew how to use it efficiently. She showed me no mercy. It was by far the worse strapping I'd ever received. In fact, it was so bad I have little memory of the details. I don't know how long it lasted, nor how many strokes she gave me, but when it was finally over my uniform was literally drenched with tears and agonized sweat. My buttocks and legs were so sore that I could scarcely walk to the showers.

There, I stripped and soaked for an hour, my flesh so hot and painful that I could not stop weeping, though I had long since run out of tears. My body just jerked with dry sobs and I felt woefully sorry for myself. The worse was knowing that Monday was coming and this pain was just the beginning.

By Monday evening my flesh had healed somewhat. Though it was still pink and tender, the swelling and broad welts had vanished. I was stripped naked and brought out onto the stage. The entire school was seated watching me. I could not bear to look at them while Thornley stood at the podium and explained my crime and the upcoming punishment. For me, this was all like some bad dream. I drifted through it as though it was happening so someone else. I cared very little what they did to me. I heard her say the caning was to be twenty-four strokes and I merely nodded, not the least alarmed. It was just, whatever they did. I would accept it.

After the headmistress' speech, I was led to a wooden sawhorse and bent across it. My naked bum was pointed at the audience. Worse, my legs were pulled extremely wide and my face positioned so I could see everyone between my legs, and they could watch my every expression.

My legs were strapped to the sides of the horse, and then my arms pulled outward and strapped also. This was a new experience for me. I'd never been tied down for a punishment before. It was better, because I could struggle freely. But it was also worse, because my struggling meant I wasn't accepting my punishment willingly, which increased the pain.

Finally, when everything was ready, Thornley brought out the worst blow to my pride. I heard the audience react before I knew what was happening, and then I saw him out the corner of my eye, and heard Thornley introduce him. It was Samuel, brought over from the boys' school to watch my humiliation. He stood on stage, not three yards away, and watched, his face showing nothing.

The caning itself was nearly dull in its routine. It hurt miserably, and I was weeping after six. Thornley was thorough and devilish as always, but I was familiar with all her tricks, and I cared nothing but for this torture to end. I was no longer interested in the subtlties of her discipline, of where she placed her strokes, how she flicked her wrist to add that extra sting, or which weal she cleverly overlapped with another. This was her game, not mine. I never wanted to see another cane or strap again, as long as I lived. I merely lay there and wept quietly, praying that it would soon be over.

Thornley thrashed me horribly that day, giving me eight across the back of my thighs and the balance across my bum. She drew out the punishment for as long as she could, but eventually all twenty-four strokes had been delivered. Perhaps she would have been better not tying me down -- I could have resisted and earned extra strokes for her.

Later that evening, after supper (which I ate standing, in a room by myself), I was led over to St. Andrew's. It was a similar hall, but filled with boys instead of girls, and instead of a naked girl strapped to the wooden horse, it was a naked boy, pale and thin, with buttocks blotched with red welts from the strap.

I watched without expression as Mr. Davely dutifully gave poor Samuel two dozen of the best, including a number across the back of his thighs. With each stroke I felt as though I was being thrashed again, the pain in my body tingling and throbbing in sympathy. When it was over, in just a few minutes, to my surprise -- I could have sworn mine took at least a half an hour -- Samuel was led away and I never saw him again.

I returned to my school and my studies, and in three weeks took my final exams and passed easily. My father was ecstatic, talking vividly of college. I wasn't much interested but it meant getting away from St. Esther's, and that sounded wonderful.

At eighteen, I was finally an adult. I put my childhood behind me, and headed home for the summer. In the fall college awaited me. It was going to be exciting.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 34
Graduation

(****, M/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin has a bittersweet homecoming and grows up quick. (Approximately 1,548 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My parents had a little party after I returned home. On my insistence, it was a modest affair, but my father couldn't hide how proud he was of his daughter. During the party I saw many neighborhood friends I hadn't seen in years, and was introduced to a number of young men by couples my parents had invited. It was all very artificial and I wasn't much in the mood, though I tried to smile and play along.

As the party faded, and most of the guests congratulated me one last time and vanished, I felt tremendous relief. I had wanted to escape school and feel like an adult, but my sour mood left me feeling childish and immature.

There was a soft touch on my arm. I turned and saw my father. He led me away from the dwindling party, down the hall and out the back door of the house.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I wanted to talk to you alone," he said. His expression was strange to me. It was a mixture of happiness and saddness, as though he couldn't make up his mind which emotion was the strongest. I saw pride there, and fear and concern. To my shock I also saw tears in his eyes, and when he hugged me suddenly, I realized how very much he loved me.

Some tiny thing inside me began to crack at that moment, and I too began to weep. We wept together for what seemed like a long time, but I imagine was really only a few minutes, and when we pulled apart and looked at each other, we were smiling.

"Oh, I love you so very much!" I cried out.

"I know, dear. I'll love you forever, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy," I said, nodding and sniffling.

"You're going to be leaving me, soon. You are going to be an adult and go off on your own. I am so proud of you, but I want you never to forget that I am your father, and if you ever need anything, I am here for you. Do you understand that? No matter what happens in your life, what troubles you run into, or get yourself buried it, you can come home to Daddy and I'll be here for you."

I couldn't speak I felt so much happiness. I hugged him instead, and for a long while we just stood there embracing in the moonlight. Finally we broke apart and walked through the garden and out to the little shed near the back fence. I thought we'd just wandered there, but reaching the shed my father opened the door, flipped on the light, and motioned for me to go inside.

Puzzled, I obeyed. The shed wasn't more than an eight by ten, and the walls were covered with shelves of tools and woodworking equipment. (Daddy fancies himself a carpenter of late, though truth be told he needs a great deal more practice.)

My eyes went right to the long rattan cane on the workbench. Fear clenched my belly and somehow I knew it was more than coincidence that it was lying there, and that my father was closing the door behind us.

"Daddy?" I said. My voice was hesitant with fear.

"Yes, dear," he whispered. "That's why we're here."

"But what did I dooo?" I wailed, feeling more and more like a child. Tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn't fair! I was to be done with canes and childish spankings! I was eighteen years old, goddamn it!

"Nothing, Peaches," he whispered. "You haven't done anything. Now you know the routine. Hand me the cane and bend over the work. I'll take care of your dress."

It was like someone else was inside me, controlling my limbs. I felt myself walking, taking the enormously long cane and passing it to my father, and shuddering as I bent forward. I grasped the other side of the bench with my hands, holding on tightly as I feared this was going to hurt.

My father wasted no time but quickly lifted my long dress up until it cleared my bottom. My panties were sexy lacey ones I'd bought as soon as I'd gotten away from school. No more regulation knickers for me! But they came down to my ankles as quickly as any other, and I was left standing there, bare bottomed, waiting for the cane. I shivered and held my breath. Nothing happened.

"Erin? Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. Please, may I have the first stroke?"

It came then, deceitfully quiet until it struck with blinding agony. The line of fire was outrageous and I howled in frustration. Somehow I managed to ask for the second and third strikes, tears stinging my eyes.

It was astonishing. My bottom already felt like it had been thoroughly beaten after just three strokes. Perhaps it had been the surprise of the caning. I certainly had not been expecting a caning tonight!

"Please, sir, number four?"

As the number of strokes slowly climbed, I realized that I was feeling this punishment in ways I hadn't felt in a very long time. The intensity was astonishing. My body felt alive and vigorous. I was crying, yes, but crying half out of joy and delight. I hadn't felt this much emotion in months, years, perhaps. That something inside me that had cracked earlier, suddenly broke away completely, and I began to sob.

It wasn't that the strokes were harder or more vicious than I'd ever felt -- in fact, they were mild compared to Thornley's two dozen. It was something else. During the next two strokes I thought about it as hard as I could, trying to decipher what made this caning so special.

Then it hit me -- I loved my father for what he was doing!

I hadn't loved Thornley when she'd beaten me before the entire school, or Sari and the girls when they'd taken turns whacking my arse. No, this was different. I loved my father and loved that he was punishing me. I knew he loved me and every sizzling stroke was given in love. I didn't resent the punishment, or fear it. I knew it was just, somehow. He loved me and if he felt I needed punishment, that was enough justification for me.

"Please, may I have eleven?" I whispered, my voice singing with joy. I wished this could last forever.

As the rod wealed me yet again and I writhed in delicious agony, I realized something else: I'd never loved those I'd punished. Except for Jessie, at least for a little while. No wonder I'd been such a dismal failure as a prefect! No wonder my charges had resented me so much. I had thought to gain pleasure from beating them, but now I saw clearly that pleasure comes from love. I'd glimpsed it with Samuel, delighting in how he accepted my whippings in exchange for sex, but of course we had not been truly in love.

"Number twelve, please."

The cane cracked down hard, low, and brought forth a yelp of alarm from me. My bottom was well-healed from Thornley's administrations, but I was still sensitive. Waves of pain washed through me, cleansing me. My weeping drained me, and I felt my guilt and confusion fade. When the sixteenth blow fell and I heard my father telling me to rise I felt powerfully disappointed.

I stood, my dress falling down over my bottom, and hugged my father for a long time, weeping onto his shoulder. He patted my back and whispered soothing things into my ear.

"That's it, Peaches. That's all there is. It's all over, now. You're a grown up now. A college girl. Shhh, don't cry. It's all over. I'll never strike you again. Oh, there now, don't cry. It's okay. I know it hurts, dear, but I felt you needed one last reminder before I let you go."

"Oh, Daddy, I'll always be your girl!" I howled, burying my face in his collar.

"I know you will, dear. But you're an adult now. You'll have no more need of my discipline. You're on your own, now. I'll be here to guide you and instruct you, but you have to make your own decisions now."

He hugged me until I stopped crying and then he used his handkerchief to wipe away my tears. "Come on, girl. We'd better get back to the party before someone comes looking for us."

A stab of fright hit me. I'd forgotten all about the party. Perhaps there were guests outside right now, listening! My face went crimson as Daddy opened the door, but there was no one there, only the quiet cool night.

I walked back with him, abandoning my knickers in the shed, and feeling deliciously naughty for doing so. I composed my face the best I could, figuring if someone saw I'd been crying they'd surely think it was due to emotion, not a bout with a cane!

It was the beginning of a new era for me. Childish things were far behind me, and only adulthood lay ahead. I wondered what sort of pleasure and pain it would bring.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 35
University

(*****, F/F, Severe, College girl caning)

Erin has her first university Experience. (Approximately 1,705 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My crime on my first day of University was that I was in too good a mood. I'd gone through registration and received my class schedule, met two girls who were to dorm with me, and I felt giddy with excitement. My new friends, Donna and Janice, were both rather shy, and I felt obliged to set an example of boldness and daring appropriate for a fresh adult.

We found House 17 easily and I quickly led the girls inside, grinning saucily at the dowdy maid in the front hall.

"Our bags are out front," I ordered her. "Fetch them and give us the best rooms in the house!"

The woman, who I now realized to be older than I had first thought, stood upright and gazed at me without taking a step to obey me. "And who might you be, Miss?" she asked quietly.

"My name is Erin," I said. "Erin O'Grady. And this is Donna Delgato and Janice Martin."

The woman nodded. "The rooms are upstairs. There are four girls to a room. Rooms 5 and 6 are currently empty."

I started forward, eager to inspect my new living quarters. "And our bags?"

"Oh, I'll fetch them for you, Miss," said the woman in a revolting snide voice. I wanted to slap her. I'd have to speak to someone regarding her attitude. It didn't befit a servant at all!

Rooms 5 and 6 proved to be disappointingly identical. Each had four beds, two closets and two large dressers, and a long desk along the far wall beneath a small window. Obviously we would have to share. I picked room 5 as it was one door closer to the shower, and quickly selected a bed. Donna and Janice came in slowly after me and made their selections cautiously, as though worried they might be making a mistake.

"This isn't too bad," I mused out loud. "Not much different than boarding school, really. But we shall have much more freedom here."

The others nodded. "I've never been to a school with _boys_ in it," Donna whispered, her voice rough with excitement, her eyes shining. Janice was silent but smiled and blushed.

I grinned. "This is going to be a smashing year, I can feel it!"

"Is this all this shit yours?" growled a voice. I turned and saw two girls about my age standing in the doorway carrying our bags. Both looked rather put out by the journey up the stairs.

"Yes." I slipped off the bed and grabbed my bags from the first girl, who glared at me. "Why didn't the maid bring them up?"

The two girls looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, but neither would say. I felt rather annoyed as the girls disappeared down the hallway, still giggling, leaving our bags in the doorway.

At six we were called down to dinner. We raced down eagerly, for we were starving. The dining room was at the back of the house, with two long tables that each sat about a dozen. Most of the seats were full. A few of the girls I recognized, likes the one who had brought our bags up and several others who had popped into our room as we put our belongings away. The woman who'd been dressed as a maid earlier, now was not, wearing a long black dress. She stood at the head of one of the tables, rapping a glass with her knife for attention.

"Take your seats, everyone," she said when the room was quiet. "I want to welcome everyone. My name is Miss Catchit, but everyone calls me Miss C. If we haven't already met. I'm the head of household."

The woman's eyes rotated around the room and stopped at me. A chill went down my spine. Oh, Gawd, I thought, my face turning pink. I had thought she was the maid! She must hate me!

"Before we begin this repast," continued the woman, her eyes drifting away, "there are a few matters to attend to. First, I want you all to know I run a _strict_ household. There are rules to this house. After the meal you will each be given a list of regulations and you shall each read and memorize them before going to sleep tonight. Is that understood?"

There were mild murmurs of agreement from around the room.

"Good. Now everyone in this house will be assigned various chores, like cleaning and serving meals. We employ a cook, but it is up to us to keep this house livable. If you do not complete your chores, you might be assigned extra cleaning duties as punishment.

"I also occasionally find the need to make use of this -- " The woman suddenly brandished a long white cane. I had no idea where she'd retrieved it from, but there it was, pale and deadly and sending shivers all the way down to my bottom. She bent it to nearly a U shape as we watched, every girl holding her breath.

"I cane every evening before supper," Miss Catchit. "That way we can all profit from the experience. I'm sure many of you are familiar with the cane, but just in case some of you are not, I'd like to perform a little demonstration. I need a volunteer, someone no doubt experienced with the cane. Is there a cheeky girl who will come forward?"

There was no question in my mind to whom the woman was referring. She did not look at me; in fact, she looked everywhere but at me, which confirmed it. Slowly I stood, my cheeks burning, not daring to look at anyone but Miss C.

"Ah!" She smiled boldly, her obvious pleasure at my compliance informing me I had made the right decision. "Miss Erin. Do come forward."

Slowly I made my way between the tables until I was next to Miss C. Her round face beamed at me as though she was about to bestow upon me some fantastic reward. The way she gripped the cane both terrified and excited me.

I waited patiently, my back to the other girls, while the lady pulled her chair away from the table. She instructed me to kneel upon it and lean over the back, which I did, feeling extremely embarrassed at the highness of my bum. It was somehow worse than my public caning at school -- here I was before strangers, and here I was supposed to be an adult.

Miss C. quickly lifted up my skirt to show off my white cotton underwear. I could feel a breeze across my thighs from somewhere. I shivered. My bottom felt huge, my knickers far too small and too tight, but I was grateful they were there. I prayed they would remain there.

"This is a very light cane," said Miss C. to the audience. "I believe it is the frequency and consistency of punishment that makes it successful, not the severity. Therefore I cane a minimum of six strokes. Every demerit counts as six strokes, and when you see your regulation charts you will note that several violations count as two or even three demerits. So it is entirely possible any one you could end up here like Erin, bent over for two dozen of the best before supper!"

I gasped. Surely she didn't mean for me -- Thwick!

"Oooh!"

Thwick! "Quiet, Erin!" Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

"Ahhh!"

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

Indeed, the cane was light but the woman was obviously an expert. She made every blow count. The strokes really bit. I gritted my teeth and tried to hold on to the chair with my sweaty hands.

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

"Arrrgggh," I moaned, for she was catching me right at the base of my bum, just above my thighs, and it was all I could do not to wriggle off the chair. Somehow I bore it, tears stinging my eyes.

"Keep your voice down or I shall add extra!"

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

"Oh, please!" I gasped, unable to stay still. My position was humiliating and awkward. My bottom and thighs burned. But the woman was inexhaustible. Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

"Ahhhhh!" I cried out at last, the agony too much. I wriggled my bum frantically, desperately, ignoring the laughter of my housemates as they watched.

"Stay still!" snapped Miss C. "You certainly are a noisy one! We'll keep going -- " Thwick!

"Nooo!" I moaned. Thwick!

" -- until you can take six in row silently!"

Thwick! I bit my tongue, writhing. Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

Just one more. I held my breath.

THWICK!

I gulped, hunkering down on the chair, my knuckles white, and slowly let the breath out of my chest.

"All right, Erin. That was better. You may get up."

Slowly I rose and got down off the chair, my skirt falling over my burning backside. Though I craved nothing more than reaching back to rub, I knew better.

Miss C. smiled at me. Our eyes met and I nodded, just slightly. Her smile widened. We understood each other well. She turned to the others. "Everyone, please thank Miss Erin for volunteering so nicely."

"Thanks, Erin!" everyone shouted, and I blushed and rushed to my seat.

Donna and Janice were on either side of me and I swear I'd never seen anyone as pale.

"My God!" hissed Janice. "I thought she was going to kill you!"

"Shut up," I growled crossly, easing myself gingerly onto my chair and trying to pretend it didn't hurt.

Later, in our bedroom, I showed Donna and Janice the marks. They weren't impressive to me, being mostly vague redness and only a few weals, but the girls thought I was a hero for bearing the beating so well. Anne, the other girl who got put with us, was also impressed, commenting that she'd only been caned once, and that was on the hand.

I slept uneasily that night, my mind filled with images of Miss C. and her cane, and me, naked, kneeling before her and begging not be beaten too hard. University was indeed going to be an interesting experience!


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 36
Professor

(*****, M/f, Severe, College girl caning)

Erin puts her foot in her mouth again... and pays the price. (Approximately 1,336 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

After the shock of that first caning from Miss C., it soon became a part of the comfortable routine of university life. I found it nearly impossible to go a week without a demerit or two, but I was with good company: every evening before supper at least one or two girls were caned, sometimes as many as four or five. It very nearly became boring, especially considering the mildness of Miss C.'s light cane. It left no weals, only redness, and one could be caned several nights in a row without harm. Most of the girls seemed to find the canings more annoying than painful, except for a few of extra-sensitive types, like my roommates Donna and Janice.

Miss C. did alter her methods slightly if you were caned more than once during the same week -- the severity was the same, but the punishment was given on the bare bottom. After the first couple times I found it wasn't as embarrassing as I'd expected. In fact, it was rather exciting. I only wished the marks were more evident. I thought longingly of the nearly bloody weals I'd gotten in school. Some of those had taken weeks to heal!

It wasn't long before I got my wish, though the methodology took me completely by surprise.

Though I was majoring in English, my least favorite course was Ancient Literature. I found the texts bloody difficult and boring and I couldn't relate to them at all. I began to slack off in Professor Boron's class, neglecting my reading and occasionally pretending to be sick and not attending class.

One day, about halfway through the semester, I received a note informing me to meet the Professor in his office at 4 p.m. I arrived a little late, thinking I knew exactly what he wanted to talk to me about, and not very happy to discuss it.

"Good afternoon, Miss O'Grady," he said when I entered. "I see to treat punctuality with the same cavalier attitude you treat my class." He waved at the clock on the wall which read twenty after four.

I shrugged. "So I'm not interested in ancient literature. What of it?"

His eyebrows went up. He was a big man, rather fat, actually, though dressed formally the way he was now he was quite presentable. "Young lady, you have an attitude problem."

"I have a lot of problems," I said with a sigh. I plopped down in a chair without asking. "You should have seen the blind date I had last Friday. I thought I wouldn't survive the night. God, what I prick that boy was! Or wasn't, actually. Hee hee."

"I should think your lackluster studies would concern you more than the vagrancies of your social life," said Professor Boron coldly.

His seriousness goaded me. I was failing his class already, so what more could I lose? "Fuck Ancient Literature!" I said. "Who needs it?"

To my surprise the man didn't even blink. He simply stood and went to a tall cabinet in the corner. Opening it, he withdrew a wicked brown cane, slender and made of ratan. I flinched.

"I see you are familiar with this," he said. "To the desk."

"You can't -- " I began, but I was already standing and walking to his desk. My bottom tingled in anticipation.

"I can," he said firmly. "Unless you wish to fail Ancient Literature?"

The tone in his voice gave me hope. So there was a chance I hadn't failed after all? Perhaps a caning was worth it. I did need the course to graduate. If I failed I would have to retake it later. It would be best to get it out of my way my first year of school. I shrugged and bent over the desk as though I wasn't concerned, though my eyes told me the cane wasn't a thin instrument like Miss C.'s.

"You are an unruly and obnoxious girl," said the man as he came up behind me. Suddenly I was thankful I'd worn trousers. They were thin, but that wasn't as bad as getting it over my knickers. I could feel the material tighten across my cheeks as I bent over.

At the first blow I neary bit my tongue off. I gulped and held on, widening my stance slightly to hold position. I didn't want him to see me wiggling, thinking he was hurting me. I was determined to take his thrashing without a peep.

The next one left a welt -- no question. The pain was hotter and fiercer than several of Miss C.'s strokes together. By the time he'd given me six I knew I'd still be feeling these the next day. But he didn't stop at six -- no he went right on to twelve. I never breathed a word and took the entire punishment most stoically, but in truth I was most grateful when he stopped. I'm sure he was disappointed I'd taken it so well.

"Are we done?" I asked in a bored tone when he stopped. I rose and stretched, ignoring the painful throbbing of my backside.

"No we are not," he said coldly, freezing me in my tracks. I hesitated. More caning didn't appeal to me much after twelve with that heavy rattan rod.

"Er, what's next?" I asked casually, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

"That was for your rudeness and being tardy. Now you shall be punished for your slackness and poor coursework. Take down your trousers."

This did not please me at all, but I couldn't let him see me bothered now. I licked my lips and nodded, nonchalantly jerking down my beige pants. My panties didn't help me at all. I'd worn my most petite ones, the one's I'd bought on a dare with Donna. They were thongs with only a narrow band of cloth passing between my cheeks. My arse was essentially bare. I preferred these when I wore pants because I didn't like the outline of my underwear showing through my thin trousers, but right now I'd have worn heavy woolen knickers in a heartbeat.

"Ah, I see you are a naughty girl even when not in school," said Professor Boron in his deep, masculine voice. "You think too much about your social life. Perhaps this will teach you a good lesson."

With those words, the large man delivered six of the hardest, most painful strokes of the cane I'd ever felt in my life. (And I've felt quite a few!)

God it was awful. Despite my resolve I moaned and wiggled and even cried a bit. The pain drenched me with sweat. Enduring it felt like the most difficult thing I'd ever had to do. And yet --

It was a glorious feeling. I realized right then what I'd been missing from Miss C.'s little canings. Hers amused me. They stimulated me, but only mildly. What I wanted was total abandonment. Real pain. I didn't understand why at all, but that's what it was. I wanted something that hurt, something that made me *feel* more than anything I'd ever felt before. I wanted to be overwhelmed, overcome. My mind flashed back to Mrs. Arler and her riding crop. She'd known how to make me feel! Even the mildest stroke from her had caused me agonies of feeling. I wanted to feel that way again.

Professor Boron was close. He did a good job. It felt like he ravished me with that cane. A part of me was incredibly disappointed when he stopped. My arse throbbed. It was heavy with weals. I could hardly wait to run my fingers over them in the shower. Pinching them would give me such incredible agony!

"Come back in two weeks," said the professor's booming voice. "We shall revaluate your situation then. Is that understood?"

I nodded meekly, pulling my pants up awkwardly. Two weeks. God, I could hardly wait. Perhaps then I wouldn't even bother with panties.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 37
Heidi

(*****, F/F, Intense, College girl consensual hand spanking)

Erin makes a new friend. (Approximately 2,853 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"You aren't supposed to be here," said an authoritative voice, and I looked up with the guilty expression of a cat caught with the broken milk bottle.

It was a Saturday and I was in the library in one of the private study rooms. These were ostensibly for seniors only, though with the librarian's permission others could use them. I hadn't asked for permission, however, simply helping myself. Being caught simply meant I'd be ejected and have to do my research out in public, not something that appealed to me considering my subject matter.

My concerns vanished when I looked up, however.

In the doorway stood one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. She was tall, slender, and proud, with sharp facial features and gorgeous blue eyes that were larger and rounder than normal eyes. Her lips were thin but very red. She wore a white T-shirt and blue jacket which was zipped up half-way in front, but I could still see the substantial bulge of her chest, the twin mounds making me wish again that I was more endowed on top. This woman was overflowing with blessing -- not only was her upper body stupendous, but she had incredible hips, too. It wasn't fair at all. Her tight jeans encased the sleekest thighs I'd ever seen. I couldn't see her ass, but I was dying to see if it was as round as the view from the front promised.

Even as I thought this the woman suddenly moved. With the grace of a cat she slipped inside the room and briefly turned her backside to me while she quietly but firmly shut the door. Her buttocks were even more spectacular than I could have imagined. I'd never seen anyone with such a prominent bottom. Even with jeans the cleft was deep and pronounced, the cheeks enormous and round. You'd have thought she'd be too self-conscious of it too walk around in public like that.

"Did you hear what I said?"

I stared at the woman -- no, girl, for now that I saw her more closely I realized she was student, like me. I couldn't speak. She was so beautiful I didn't know what to say. I hadn't been so overwhelmed by a person since Ariana.

"You must a mute," said the girl. She plopped herself onto a chair, pushing it back from the table and rudely stretching her legs onto the desk where my research books lay. Her mouth was filled with chewing gum, forbidden in the library, which she munched loudly in response to my silence.

I saw she was even younger than my second thought. She really wasn't much older than me. No doubt she had no more right to be in here than I. Now that she had spoken more, I realized she was an American. Her foreign brashness intrigued me. I could see the hint of a grin at the corners of her mouth and I wasn't the least bit afraid of her. This was some sort of game. I had better play along.

"Who are you?" I asked, finally finding my voice.

The girl blinked at me a few times, her long lashes far too elegant for someone dressed as informally as she was. She seemed to be contemplating whether she could entrust me with priceless information like her name.

"My name is Heidi."

I smiled and held out my hand. "I'm Erin."

We shook and smiled. "You're American," I blurted, wondering even as I said it why I stated the obvious.

"No shit."

For a moment I just stared at her, then I giggled. She joined in after a few seconds.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. "Obviously you're American. What I really meant was, 'What are you doing here?' In England, I mean. Not in the library."

Heidi shook her head sadly at my stupidity. "Going to school, you moron. What the hell do you think I'm doing here?"

This conversation was not going the way I wanted it to go. "Well, sorrrrrry for asking," I snapped.

Heidi grinned. "You're quite the smartass for a Brit."

"What, you think the British can't be as smartass as Americans?"

"Of course not. Everyone knows Americans are the biggest asses on the planet. It's part of our culture."

"You have no culture. At least not for more than ten minutes or so, when the next fad comes along."

The girl laughed loudly, and it was a joyous, free sound. I swear I could have listened to her laugh for hours. It was so light and playful, so lacking in British stiffness and formality, and I found it delightfully refreshing. In school I used to joke that someday we'd have to fill out a form for permission to laugh.

"What are you studying?"

It took me a moment to realize the girl was browsing my books with sapid curiosity, and I hastily made to retrieve my things.

"Uh, nothing. I'll be out of here in a minute."

The girl laughed again, and I paused, unable to not watch her. She was so relaxed and carefree. I envied her.

"Sit down," she said. "I'm no threat to you. I'm only in my second year. I did a year in Texas."

"You're from Texas?"

"Not really. Originally I'm from Missouri, though I also spent time in New York and Washington, D.C."

Images flashed through my mind. "That's a lot of places."

The girl shrugged, a pretty lift of her shoulders. "My father's job took him all over. We even lived in London for a while when I was very young. My mother was British, you know."

I couldn't help but hear the painful emphasis on the word. "Was?" I asked cautiously.

"She's dead. She died when I was two. I don't really remember her so there's not much to miss."

"Of course there is!" I said quickly, speaking, as usual, without thinking. "A mother's very important to a young girl. I can't imagine growing up without my Mum."

Heidi looked at me, astonished at my rudeness, and then she smiled, a soft, sad smile. "You're right, of course. I do miss having a mother. I try to tell myself I don't, but I do. My father and I are very close, but it's not the same."

We didn't speak for a little while, just enjoying the quiet and our mutual understanding. I liked this girl. She had spirit and yet a tenderness to her I found incredibly appealing.

"_The Bawdy Adventures of Sir Frederick Wilmington_," read Heidi out loud, and I saw she'd picked up one of the books from my stack.

"Hey!" I shouted, reaching to snatch it back. She pulled away from me, her grin mocking me.

As I dove across the desk she leapt to her feet and ran away. I chased her, round and round table, as she giggled and shoved chairs in my path and began to read aloud from the book.

"... 'pressed against the heaving bosoms of the magnificent woman. We crouched together there, hidden beneath the davenport, as the King, a scant ten feet away, gave orders for the removal of my head should I be found. The scent of the woman was strong in my nostrils and I felt my maleness grow. "Might as well," I thought, and I pressed my lips against the Queen's in a long embrace' ..."

The girl had to pause in her reading here, for I had nearly captured her, my arms embracing her slim body and drawing her to the floor with a dull bump. My head settled against the soft pillow of her rump and the sheer voluptuousness of her rear made me loosen my grip. She wriggled away, giggling and waggling her pretty backside in the air.

"Oh, wait!" she cried when I made to resume chase. "This part is hilarious! Listen... 'I entered her palace with abandon, for I was a doomed man. My stiff soldier found her well and plunged in greedily, thirstily, drinking to my utmost, nearly bursting her well at the seams I was so engorged with pleasure.' Ha ha! This is great!"

"Put that down!" I cried, collapsing in my chair in frustration. There was little use chasing her now. She'd already read enough to doom me.

"But this is hilarious. Where'd you find this? Are all these -- "

Heidi began to poke through the rest of my pile of books and saw that indeed, they all ran in similar lines. I sat red-faced and panting, muttering that it was "serious research for a term paper," which only made her laugh harder.

"You are a naughty, naughty, girl," scolded Heidi. "You shouldn't be reading material like this. Why if my father caught me with a book like this he'd tan my hide with Texas leather."

I froze at her reference, wondering if she meant what I thought she meant. "You mean -- "

The girl grinned, her blue eyes gleaming with humor and excitement. "Yup, the ole trip to the woodshed."

This was another reference I didn't completely understand, and my puzzlement must have been evident on my face. Heidi rolled her eyes and snorted with disgust.

"He'd _spank_ me, silly! You do know what spanking is, don't you?"

"Of course!" I said too fast. My hand involuntarily went to my backside, my most recent session with Professor Boron still fresh and tender.

Heidi's eyes widened. "Obviously you know what I'm talking about. Does your father -- "

I shook my head. "Not any more, now that I'm in college."

"Ah, but he used to."

I blushed. "Yes. And in school, too."

"In school!" The girl appeared shocked.

"I went to a boarding school where they still use the cane. Quite frequently, I might add."

This appeared to fascinate the American girl. "In Texas they use the paddle. It doesn't hurt much, not the way they do it. Just a few swats maximum. But it's awfully embarrassing."

"The cane isn't anything like the paddle," I said ferverently. "It's pure agony."

"Sounds interesting." Heidi grinned impudently at me, her smirk encouraging me.

"Perhaps I should give you a taste!"

"Oh, but you're the naughty one. You're the one with these books."

"That's research."

"Yeah, right. I'm sure the school forced you to write a paper on erotic literature."

"Well, we got to pick our own topics..."

"Just as I thought," snapped Heidi. "_You_ are the one who deserves to be spanked!" She patted her lap. "Come on, over my knee you naughty girl."

I stared at the American with disbelief. I knew she was joking -- she _had_ to be joking -- and yet, I couldn't stop myself. I was already moving forward, grinning playfully as though the whole thing was a silly jest, but I laid myself across her lap with utter seriousness, breath bated, wondering if she'd really spank me. The thought of this beautiful creature, so brash and mysterious, spanking my bottom, aroused me like nothing before in my life.

There was a long moment of silence. I waited, not moving. My hands rested on the floor, holding me up, my legs dangling on the other side of Heidi's lap. My hips ground into her warm thighs and it felt good. It felt very good. I couldn't breath lest it break the spell.

Finally I heard a long, slow, expiration of breath, followed by a gentle, exploratory hand on my bum. I tensed slightly, but didn't move. The palm rotated, rubbing my arse. Electricity raced through me. I'd never felt so much excitement and anticipation. The hand patted me, then gave me a light swat. I didn't move.

The swat came again, a touch harder, and then a real one, no longer playful, but still not very hard.

"I guess you deserve this spanking very much," said the girl. Her voice was strange -- deep and rough, rather edgy, filled with repressed emotion.

I nodded, my mouth too dry to speak. I was afraid to move.

The hand came again, rubbing, rubbing, the hairs on my skin rising. She wasn't spanking me now, she was exploring my bottom, toying with my skirt. Then it came -- she was lifting my skirt!

I noticed the temperature difference immediately, cool air rushing across my haunches. I wiggled slightly, arching my bottom up more, my panties tight. When her hand pressed against my bottom I gasped very softly, the weals from my caning pulsing dully.

"Spankings, real spankings, are given on the bare bottom, aren't they," whispered the girl.

"Oh, yes!" I hissed. Inside I was seething with impatience, aching with desire for her to hurry. My crotch was dripping. Bent over the way I was my modest breasts dangled heavily, and I could feel the nipples pushing stiffly into my bra. Oh, I wanted this! I had wanted this from the moment I saw her standing in those impossibly tight jeans.

She tugged my panties down. It was the most erotic feeling I'd ever experienced. The sensation of the cloth slowly inching down my bottom, the elastic growing tighter as it was drawn across my wide hips, the air cool across my hot hot flesh... oh, it was fantastic. I was in agony of desire.

It took an eternity to get my panties down. When they were only halfway I heard her gasp loudly and pause. I didn't want her to stop. I wiggled impatiently, eagerly, and finally she began again. Soon I realized she had seen the marks from my caning and my heart trembled. What would she think of me, a grown girl, still caned like a child?

"They're beautiful," she whispered. My mouth was too dry to speak. I felt her hand touch my bottom ever so gently, her fingertips grazing the super-sensitive raised flesh of the weals.

"Ahhh!" I breathed suddenly, arching my back in pain. My nerves were raw. I couldn't take much more of this.

"Does it hurt?"

I nodded.

"How... how long ago?"

"Two days."

"Wow."

I smiled at the awe in her voice. I thought I also sensed a quality of compassion. It made me nervous, for I didn't want to read more into than there really was. Already I felt closer to Heidi than to anyone I'd met at school. I wanted to relax and let her take me where she would, but I was afraid.

"Heidi?" I asked.

"Yes."

"My purse is on the table there. Inside is a bottle of skin cream. Would you mind -- "

I left the question unfinished, waiting to see if she understood. She did, for her body shifted and I heard something drag across the table followed by a rustling. There was a short silence and then Heidi shifted back, her focus on me again. I caught my breath sharply as the cold lotion dribbled onto my naked bum. Softly, very softly Heidi began to rub the cream into my skin. It was heavenly. I stretched myself out, thrusting my bum as high as I could. I wanted to purr like a kitten I felt so good.

"Don't stop!" I whispered, sighing deeply as Heidi continued.

Delicate frissons of feeling swept through me again and again as Heidi fingered the tender weals. I felt myself rising, the throbbing between my legs swelling higher and higher until it reached a massive peak and I was overwhelmed with a rich, glorious explosion of satisfaction. I cried out loudly, moaning, my entire body shivering.

Then it was gone, the memory so delicate that it was already fading.

I lay panting heavily, my face flushing as I realized I was naked and lying across the lap of a stranger, a girl I'd met less than an hour before. Hastily I pulled myself off her lap, jerking up my underpants and smoothing down my skirt. Then I looked at Heidi, my eyes shy and embarrassed.

The girl took my breath away. Her breathing was shallow, hesitant, as if she was afraid to live. Her cheeks were bright red, her glorious blue eyes shining like full moons at midnight. Her thin lower lip was trembling and as I watched a single tear slipped from her left I and trickled down her cheek. She made no move to stop it -- she scarcely seemed aware of it. Once again I was struck my how young she looked, how innocent and vulnerable, despite her American attitude and worldly manner.

Without bothering to think I bent forward and kissed her gently on the lips.

It was magical. Electricity snapped between us and we jerked apart, our eyes sparkling with alarm. Then, as one, we smiled.

Whatever was happening between us was incredibly powerful. We could not deny it. Neither of us wanted to deny it, though we could not hide our confusion and fear.

Gently I squeezed Heidi's hand. "Let's go easy," I said, and she nodded, grateful for my understanding. She pulled me onto her lap, my smaller body fitting so nicely into hers. She held me for a long time. Neither of us said another word.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 38
Roommates

(****, F/F, Severe, College girl caning)

Erin and Heidi join forces. (Approximately 1,685 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Heidi was a quick study. Within a few days it felt like we'd known each other forever. It seemed she knew everything I was feeling better than I did. If I'd had a rough class or was simply depressed or violently horny, she knew. I'd meet her at her apartment, which was but a short walk from the University. She be waiting, a stern expression on her face.

"You have been a naughty girl!" she'd say when I meekly approached.

I'd bow my head and go inside. She'd shut the door behind me.

"Take off your skirt and go stand in the corner. I'm making some tea."

I'd obey with trembling gratefulness, my excitement at her understanding my needs arousing me fiercely, and yet I knew it would be a long while before I'd have my satisfaction.

Heidi played me like a musical instrument.

She punished me, be certain of that. She'd found a wooden cutting board, similar to the Texas paddle with which she was familiar, and she'd use it on me frequently. At first it wasn't very hard. Just a few swats every ten minutes or so, eventually followed by a sound pounding of twenty or thirty strokes.

But it wasn't the severity that I needed as much as the comforting knowledge that someone cared enough to discipline me. I never believed that Miss C., for all her strictness with her cane, cared as much about me as she did about maintaining order in her house. And I can swear that Professor Boron got off caning me as much as I did receiving his discipline.

With Heidi it was different. She truly loved me. I knew that instinctively. It was in every gesture, the tone of her voice, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't noticing, even in the punishing strokes of her paddle. I felt honored to be loved by someone as beautiful and sexy as Heidi.

After a serious session with the paddle, my buttocks sizzling with hot agony, I'd go and clamber onto Heidi's lap. My naked bottom would press against her jean-clad thighs (she always wore jeans) and I would hug her, warmth flooding my body. I had never felt so secure and loved. I would relax and weep. Heidi never complained or asked why I cried. She seemed to understand, or perhaps she just accepted. It was wonderful.

One day I came to Heidi's a bit late. She was not waiting for me. The apartment was dark. I came inside -- she'd given me a key -- and waited. It was after dark when she came home, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

"What have you got?" I asked, seeing her packages. She only laughed and told me to "mind my own business."

"Go stand in the corner!" she snapped suddenly, as though she'd just thought of it. I sighed and nodded, wondering if I should remove my skirt. Since she hadn't told me to I decided to keep it on. I could hear her moving through the house but couldn't see what she was doing. I itched to look but refrained, knowing the sweetness of sacrifice.

"Okay, Erin, you may turn around now."

Heidi was standing before me in a long midnight blue gown. It was elegant, beautiful, with clean, understated lines that enhanced a shapely figure like Heidi's. The color was so dark it made Heidi's skin seem to gleam with vitality, the rosy glow of her cheeks wonderously pretty. Her long golden hair had been pinned up and the result was something so graceful I couldn't believe I was looking at the same Heidi that wore scruffy blue jeans and T-shirts all the time.

"My God, Heidi," I exclaimed. "You're gorgeous!"

She giggled delightfully, her cheeks blossoming into a deeper pink. "Thank you, Erin," she whispered. She seemed ready to burst with excitment, dancing on her toes like a child at Christmas.

"This is for you."

The long white box lay before me, a red bow fastening it shut. I stared at it, speechless. "It's not my birthday."

"I know," she said softly. There was a pause. "It's mine."

"Heidi!" I cried. "You didn't tell me! That's not fair. I've got nothing for you!"

"Yes you do," she said bluntly, her eyes intent. I gulped, wondering what she had in mind. "Open it."

Trembling with wonder, my hands fingered the bow. Carefully I untied it and opened the box. Inside, nestled within white tissue paper, was a slender crock-handled cane. Tingles went up and down my spine. My mouth went dry. I glanced up at Heidi. She was grinning at me, that near smirk that always made me want to take her over _my_ knee.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, and she sighed happily.

I took the cane from the box. It was white and smooth. It wasn't especially heavy, but it was flexible. Already I felt my belly tensing with anticipation. This thin rod was going to hurt terribly, like all canes did. And yet, coming from my beloved Heidi, I relished every stroke.

"Please," I whispered, my voice so hoarse I'm surprised she understood. But she did. She took the cane and nodded toward the kitchen table. I bent across it without a word.

"I'm twenty years old today," she said in her soft, melodious voice. "I think that's a beautiful number, don't you?"

I nodded, too tense to speak.

My skirt was lifted then, and as always turning that procedure, my emotions went beserk. I felt everything from panic to sexual arousal. Feeling coursed through me, making me wild. My palms, flat against the table, began to sweat. I leaned forward until my breasts touched the wooden surface of the table and I waited, holding my breath.

Heidi stood behind me, swishing the cane through the air. "I'm new at this," she said. I didn't answer. I knew it didn't matter if she lacked experience -- the cane was a fearsome weapon in anyone's hands.

"Stay in position or I shall add strokes," she said. I nodded.

Then it came. I felt her line up the stroke, the cane just touching my bum. Then it flashed down, a solid respectable strike for a first try, though nothing as severe as a blow from Professor Boron or even Miss C. Still, I flinched slightly, expelling my clenched breath.

"Ahhh," I sighed as the pain prickled me.

She struck me again, this one poorly aimed but harder, the tip burying into the right side of my right cheek. I chirped in alarm and stood on my toes.

The caning seemed to be over far too quickly, and yet, during the punishment, it lasted forever. Every blow was deliberate, carefully done. Heidi was experimenting, testing, learning. She struck soft, she struck hard. Some blows were on target, some off. Still, it wasn't a bad beating for a first try. After a dozen I was quite uncomfortable, fidgeting slightly in anticipation of more. By the time we reached eighteen I was sweating and groaning, for Heidi was now striking me quite hard and accurately. As I mentioned, she was a quick study.

With only two left, she paused. "Take off your clothes."

It took me a moment to figure out what she'd said. For some reason I became extremely excited. Quickly I stood and tore off my clothes, tossing them into a heap in the corner. Naked, I ran back to the table and resumed my position. Heidi had not moved.

The final two cracks weren't any harder than the previous ones, but being naked while Heidi was clothed in her elegant gown made me seem much more vulnerable, and I cried out loud at each stroke. Afterwards I stood there crying, still bent over, my bare arse wiggling and throbbing with pain.

Suddenly I felt something very near my bottom -- a cooling breath. Alarmed, I glanced over my shoulder. Heidi was there, bending over, gently blowing on my wealed bottom. Her face went closer, out of my view, and I blushed in horror at what she was seeing. My crotch was dripping with moisture and I didn't see how she could fail to see it.

"Ah!" cried Heidi in a stern voice. "What a naughty girl! You are excited by your punishment, aren't you?

I didn't say anything, closing my eyes at my humiliation.

THWACK! came the cane, a fierce cut right across the base of my bum. I gasped and half-stood. Heidi's hand plunged into the middle of my back and shoved me downward, slamming my breasts against the table. I shuddered and moaned.

"Answer me!" she shouted. "Are you excited by your punishment?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," I managed.

"Oh, that is very, very naughty. You must be punished most severely, shouldn't you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm going to give you a choice of punishments. One is going to be much more severe than the other. I think you know which I should prefer you take, don't you?"

I nodded frantically, my sex surging with fantastic trembling at the thought of more discipline.

"Good," said Heidi. "Here is your choice. Take another twenty strokes of the cane right now... or, you can move in with me and become my roommate and I shall cane you night and day, any time I like."

The silence in the room seemed like a physical presence. I couldn't breath. My joy had never been greater. It was so great, in fact, that I doubted it existed. Surely I could not be privileged with so much happiness!

"Oh, please, dear Heidi," I sobbed, tears flooding onto the table. "Let me live with you. I shall be a good girl, very obedient to you. I promise."

Immediately her arms embraced me from behind, the smooth material of her dress pressing against my painfully sore rear. Her hands reached around my chest and grasped my breasts, squeezing them tightly, and I felt her lips nuzzling my ear.

"I love you, dear Erin," she said quietly.

I could do nothing but weep.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 39
My First Job

(***, F/F, Intense, College girl strapping)

Erin gets a job. (Approximately 1,720 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

As often happens with major changes in life, several came to me at once. Right after Heidi's proposal my first term ended with a series of dreadful final exams. As I was making arrangements to move in with Heidi and preparing for a new round of classes, I learned from a friend of an opening at a small beauty parlor. I needed the extra income and was determined to get the job.

Initially my job would be to assist the shop owner, Mrs. Dunst. She was a kindly woman in her late forties, large and blustery, given to gossip, and terrible at doing the accounts. But she was wonderful with problem hair. My duties would include washing the client's hair and answering the telephone and managing appointments, and eventually I'd learn to do simply trims and give permanents.

Mrs. Dunst seemed very pleased with me, especially with my instincts. I'd always enjoyed working with hair, giving haircuts to friends or experimenting with my own, and now I had a chance to learn to do it professionally. At the end of our conversation she announced the job was mine if I wanted it; I would begin a week from Monday, the start of the new term.

I worked in the afternoons, which fitted my new schedule, and I loved my new job. Mrs. Dunst quickly saw I had an eye for certain styles and in my second week actually let me help her with several clients, though I was terrified as I'd had no formal training whatsoever. She watched me constantly, however, and the ladies were very happy with my work.

My confidence and knowledge grew and during the third week I was ecstatic when Mrs. Dunst let me begin working with Mrs. Kabel, one of her oldest and most prominent clients. She emphasized to me how important and wealthy the lady was, despite her encentric manners, and I resolved to do a bang-up job on the woman.

I began with washing the woman's hair. Mrs. Kabel was an arrogant witch of a woman, tall and stretched out like taffy, who wore expensive designer outfits with the grace of a telephone pole. She had narrow black glasses and glared at everyone through the tiny windows. Her face was bitter and puckered like she'd sucked on a sour lemon all morning and nothing I did made her happy. She complained I kept pulling her hair while washing it, and of course I got soap in her eyes.

"Dottie! Dottie! Come here right this minute!" she cried when I'd finished with the wash. Mrs. Dunst bustled over.

"Yes, Karen?"

"This servant girl of yours is worthless! She practically tore my hair out at the roots!"

"I'm sorry," murmured Mrs. Dunst, lowering her eyes briefly and flashing me a sharp scolding look. "She is very new. And very young, don't you think? We'll settle up before you leave, all right?"

Mrs. Kabel leered at me greedily with her tiny black pea eyes. "Yes, she is young," she said nodding slowly. Her head went up and down as she looked me over carefully. "All right, get it over with!" she snapped suddenly, waving Mrs. Dunst away and letting me begin with her hairdo.

It was a disaster from the word go. First of all, I was now so nervous that I triple-guessed decision I made, which left me with absolutely no confidence in my abilities. Mrs. Kabel made everything very difficult, berating me constantly, for no apparent reason, and she kept changing her mind, usually right after I'd made some dreadfully permanent snip with my scissors. Three times I fetched Mrs. Dunst for advice and consolation and got very little of either. I began to wonder why in the world I'd been allowed to cut hair so soon on the job as I obviously knew nothing.

I finally managed to end up with something that Mrs. Kabel seemed vaguely pleased with, grudgingly admitting I had some skill, though I was obviously a rude bore of a child who needed to learn some manners. I didn't say a word in response, but waited for the judgement of Mrs. Dunst. She appeared quite surprised and impressed by what I had done, remarking on several clever impromptu fixes I'd made because of Mrs. Kabel's const mind-changing.

"Not bad, not bad at all," she murmured, clicking her tongue quietly. "Very good, Erin. You have remarkable talent. But I'm afraid Mrs. Kabel is right -- you are awfully rude. She is a delicate, sensitive woman. You must have more care when working with her hair and show some respect for her desires."

"But Mrs. Dunst -- " I began, hot tears stinging my eyes at the unfairness of the accusations, ready to launch into a spirited defense.

She put up her hand firmly. "Not another word. Please assist Mrs. Kabel with amending matters." She turned and left, hurrying to another customer.

Frustrated and bewildered, I smiled at Mrs. Kabel the best I could. "I'm really sorry, Ma'am," I said.

"That remains to be seen, young lady. Come with me."

The tall woman spun around and trotted off with remarkable speed, heading for the rear of the store. She did not head for the lavatory as I expected, but went right to the storeroom marked "Employees Only." Her confidence and knowledge of the store confused me. What was she planning?

At the back of the storeroom was another door where I had not gone. Once when I had tried to door out of curiousity, it had been locked. But it opened easily for Mrs. Kabel and I disappeared inside, gnashing her teeth at my slowness.

"Move it child, we haven't all day!"

The room was small and clausterphobic with no windows. A long florescent tube on the ceiling illuminated the nearly empty room. When the door shut behind me it felt like we were in another world, for the room was deathly quiet. I could hear nothing from outside; no voices or vehicles passing.

The only furniture in the room was a small wooden desk with an integrated chair. It looked just like the kind used by very young children in school. As I watched, puzzled, Mrs. Kabel went to the desk and lifted the top, revealing a small storage area. She reached inside and took something out. Snapping her wrist, the wide leather strap unrolled. It was perhaps thirty inches long with the last ten inches split into three tails. My heart thumped wildly and I must have gasped out loud because she whirled to face me.

"All right, child, get over the desk! We shall see if you are truly sorry."

"M-Mrs. K-K-Kay-bulll..." I stammered, my voice turning into a plaintive whine.

"No backtalk or I shall add extra," she grunted, reaching out a gnarled hand to push me toward the desk. She was surprisingly strong. A tinge of worry began to quiver in my belly.

I bent over the small desk into the position so intimately familiar with me. Yet this time it felt different. A cold fear had settled over me and I shivered.

The woman wasted little time. She hustled up my skirt and pulled it well out of the way, and then wrestled my knickers down to my ankles. Nude from the waist down, I trembled as I felt her scrutinizing me, her eyes drinking in my bare arse and naked thighs. She ran her rough palm across my buttocks, pinching me cruelly.

"Ah, such a fine young lass," she whispered. "I shall make you pay for your mistakes!"

Then she began to whip me.

At first it wasn't too bad. The belt was wide and weighty and the strokes solid, imparting a good heavy wallop that felt appropriate. After about twenty or thirty strokes, however, my backside was screaming with agony and I began to fidget.

"Keep still!" snapped the woman, and she laid it on heavily, stroke after stroke after stroke. She caught me mostly across my bum, but occasionally she whipped my thighs for variety. I began to moan and wiggle, ahing with each cruel stroke.

"Be quiet!"

"Ohhh, but it hurts!"

"Of course it does. This is punishment."

"Ouch! Oh, please, that's enough. Ooooh! Ahhh! No more!"

WAP! WAP! WAP!

"I'll tell you when it's enough! Now bend over more, arch that back! Show me that naughty bum! I'm going to stripe you raw!"

I gritted my teeth and rocked on the desk, the leather snapping and biting me like some wild animal. It felt like every blow took out chunks of my flesh. My tears flooded onto the little chair.

After an incredibly long lashing the woman finally stopped. She was panting like a marathon runner. "Sit -- in -- the -- desk!" she managed.

I sat. I didn't have to be told twice, not from her. The chair was far too small for my big bottom, and the last thing I felt like doing was sitting, but I didn't even hesitate. My tears had left a little puddle on the seat, and could feel the moisture soaking into the scorched, raised flesh of my arse. I wiggled slightly.

"Be -- still!" roared the woman, waving the strap at me. I froze.

The woman sighed, a long deep sigh of contentment.

"You weren't bad, little one," she said with a soft smile. Her hand touched my tear-stained cheek. "Oh, you suffer delightfully! It is so hard and yet so easy for you, isn't it? Ah, yes, that is the nature of things. Ease makes things difficult."

She took a white handkerchief out of a pocket and gently wiped my face. I didn't move, staring at her as though she was a space alien. She put the handkerchief away. "Let's go."

Back in the main store it was as though nothing had happened. Mrs. Dunst was working away and the telephone was ringing shrilly. I rushed to answer it, my buttocks throbbing at my movement. As I spoke vaguely with the woman on the phone I distantly heard Mrs. Kabel thanking Mrs. Dunst for an excellent shop and promising to return in a month for "more of the same."

Ah, my first job. I obviously had a lot to learn about the business world.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 40
Oops!

(****, M/F, Intense, Strapping)

Erin meets a man. (Approximately 1,688 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

A few nervous weeks passed, but no other customers at the shop treated me like Mrs. Kabel. I began to relax. At home, my life with Heidi was wonderful. We were great friends, always willing to talk and console, and Heidi was never shy about putting me across her lap on a regular basis, whether I needed it or not. In short, life was good.

One day, feeling good because Mrs. Dunst was letting me do more and more haircuts and styling, I was given the task of cutting the hair of a man. This was a complete novelty for me, as I'd only worked with women's hair, but the man was in a hurry, a friend of a prominent customer of Mrs. Dunst, and he just wanted a simple trim before he left town on important business.

I had prepared myself the best I could but when I saw Mr. Allen all my skills went out the window. He was one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen, and just the kind of man I like: tall, strong, square-jawed, sharp-eyed, and obviously successful and wealthy. He looked fabulous in his white Armani suit. As I offered him the chair I was all nerves, fumbling and forgetting where things were located.

"Your name is Erin?" he asked as I retrieved a hairbrush from the floor where I'd knocked it.

"Er, yes," I said, straightening. I nervously touched the man's beautiful hair, brushing it lightly. He seemed very nice and his smile made me warm all the way to my toes.

I confirmed how he liked his hair trimmed and picked up a pair of scissors. I was so shaky, however, I promptly let them slip from my fingers. I couldn't believe it when they flew right into his lap. The drop cloth I'd put around him caught them nicely.

"Oh!" he cried and nearly stood.

I stared in horror for the scissors had nearly impaled his privates!

"My God!" I gasped. "I'm terribly sorry. Are you all right?"

"Uh, of course. No harm done. I'd be careful with those, though. Very sharp."

"Uh huh." I began snipping at the back of his head mostly so he couldn't see how badly I was trembling. I forgot about the mirror, however.

"You done this long? You seem nervous."

"Oh, I'm fine. Sure, I've been doing it a while. Mrs. Dunst has been training me."

"Oh, good."

I decided it would be best for both of us to change the subject. "So, Mr. Allen. What do you do?"

"Call me Rob. I'm in advertising. Well, I work for an advertising company, that is. Really I'm just an executive. I'm heading for Paris in the morning."

"Really? I've always wanted to see Paris."

"Don't go there as a tourist. You don't see the real Paris that way."

Thinking of Paris distracted me a bit and I accidently poked Rob in the ear.

"Ouch!"

He leaped to his feet, clutching his ear. I flushed with embarrassment as everyone in the shop turned to look at us.

"Are you okay?" I hissed.

"You damn near cut my ear off!" he roared. I saw Mrs. Dunst heading our way.

"Oh, please, sir. I'm terribly sorry. It was an accident."

Mrs. Dunst reached the man and pulled him aside. I could not hear what she whispered to him but whatever it was seemed to do the trick. He smiled at me and nodded, returning to my chair.

"Erin, anyone can make a mistake," he said gallantly. "Now do your worst."

I wasn't flattered by how he put that, but I was grateful he was letting me finish. It would have been awful for Mrs. Dunst or someone else to have had to take over for me.

I slowed down and concentrated dilligently after that, and soon the trim was done without any more incidents. It wasn't anything fancy -- I pretty much followed the existing cut and simply trimmed off the excess. Mr. Allen liked his hair short.

Anyway, after the haircut the man went and spoke briefly with Mrs. Dunst who immediately motioned to me. "Mr. Allen would like a word with you in the back," said the woman firmly. "You will accompany him."

I froze in terror, for the only place I knew in the back was the little room where Mrs. Kabel had taken me. But I could not disobey -- I followed the man, my heart thumping and my brain trying to convince me something else was going to happen.

The room was as before, with the little desk and everything, and inside was the same long leather strap. I trembled as Rob took it out, unrolling it and testing it with cruel swishes through the air. I was shaking violently.

"I believe you know the correct position," he said. I gulped and nodded miserably, moving to desk as though I was nothing but a marionette, and he controlled my strings. I bent forward, the tips of my breasts pressing against the hard wooden surface of the desk. My arms braced against the small chair, I waited without breathing, a daring part of me wondering how Mr. Allen's whipping would compare to Mrs. Kabel's. I didn't have long to get my answer.

I felt my skirt being lifted and I shuddered, horrified that this nice man was about to see my most intimate areas. He didn't hesitate, but carefully and calmly slid my knickers to my ankles. Thus exposed, my whipping could begin.

But nothing happened, not immediately. Trembling with fear and anticipation, I craned my neck back to see what Mr. Allen was doing. He was standing behind me, a little to my left, and admiring the charms of my rear view. The soft, lustful smile on his said everything, and for a moment my heart surged with hope that he would spare me, but then I saw the terrible glint in his eye and I knew this was not a man who believed in sparing anything. Once he had determined to do something, he carried through to the bitter end.

He lifted the strap high, licked his lips, and nodded to me.

"This will be painful," he whispered. "I shall not restrain myself."

I whimped and looked forward, closing my eyes and waiting. The first strike took my breath away, and they came fast and furious after that. I'd known Mr. Allen was a man of passion the moment I saw him -- his restrained, conservative dress and manner were nothing but an act to appease society -- but now I felt the full brunt of his uncensored passion. He was wild and undignified and his whipping loud and frantic. He lashed my buttocks, my thighs, and my legs. He even brought several upward strokes between my legs, the tails of the strap licking at the puffy lips of my wet sex.

I'd never felt anything so stimulating in my entire life. It was as though I'd never been whipped before, never felt passion or desire. I was utterly consumed by a terrible ache I could not name. The man thrashed me until both of us were dripping with perspiration, and it was only after a long time I saw with dazed surprise that the man was entirely naked. His fine clothes were scattered across the floor and he danced in the nude as he beat me. I couldn't help but notice his fine physique, admiring out of the corner of my eye the incredible manhood that saluted me.

I arched myself to him and before either of us could think he was inside me. It was as natural a fit as diving into a warm pool of water. His passion exploded within me nearly immediately, but he did not pull away but continued to rut inside me, pumping faster and faster until I screamed and collapsed onto the desk, my body shuddering uncontrollably with fantastic tremors of terrible pleasure.

I lay for a long time, panting and attempting to recover myself, both physically and emotionally. I was distantly aware of a throbbing in my nether regions, and my entire body seemed to tingle with relief as though a tremendous tension had finally been released.

I sighed deeply, and with groan rolled off the small desk. I looked up at Mr. Allen, a soft sheepish smile on my face, but he was gone. His clothes were gone and he was gone. I was alone in the tiny, sour-smelling room.

I pulled my panties up quickly and headed for the ladies room to wash my face and brush my disheveled hair. I knew without looking that Mr. Allen would not be waiting for me in the main office, but I could not help but hope that perhaps, by some incalcable miracle, he would be seated by my station, a secret twinkle in his eye.

But there was no one there. Mrs. Dunst quickly informed me that my duties for the day were complete, and I could return home if I desired. I saw nothing but gentle kindness in her face, no hint that she knew what had happened in that back room.

I nodded politely and thanked her, grateful to be allowed home early. There Heidi would run me a warm bath and put salve on my blistered flesh, all the while scolding me for being so naughty as to need discipline from a strange man. No doubt she'd eventually give me her own dose of discipline, but that was an acceptable price for her love and care.

"Oh, Erin," said Mrs. Dunst as I reached the door.

"Yes?"

"I almost forgot. Mr. Allen left this for you."

She handed me a small envelope. Inside was a white card with a simple message neatly written in the center: the word "Dinner?" followed by a phone number.

My heart soared with so much excitement I could scarcely contain it. I nodded to Mrs. Dunst and dashed out the door. My injuries forgotten, I ran the entire way home, every step one of joyful exuberance.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 41
Jealousy

(***, F/F, Intense, Caning)

Erin has a first date with Rob. (Approximately 600 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My date with Rob was set for Saturday evening a week and half later, upon his return from Paris. This gave my bottom time to heal and far too much time for me to anticipate our night together. I could scarcely imagine what our first date would be, considering the events of our first meeting.

Heidi grew bored with my constant chatter about Rob, and after two ignored reprimands, took me over her lap and spanked me soundly. This only served to excited me more, however, though I tried to contain my enthusiasm.

Rob arrived on time, presenting me with a bouquet of fresh tulips from Holland, and led me to his silver Jaguar. The evening passed like a dream. Rob was handsome and wonderfully courteous, and I felt like a queen in my elegant new gown. Throughout the excellent meal and sat with my legs crossed, my sex humming violently, as I watched Rob order wine and expensive food like a master chef. He was so bold and in control it made me weak inside. I swear if he'd ordered me to bend across the table right there in that fancy restaurant I wouldn't have hesitated an instant, baring my arse to all the elegant diners.

Fortunately Rob did not ask me to do anything so extreme. He was nothing but a gentleman, in fact. He catered my every need and seemed fascinated by my simple history and stories of my home life. His own background was frightfully exotic to my ears -- his father had been in the military and he'd grown up in India, Germany, and South Africa. Rob spoke several languages and was incredibly bright, yet he never once demeaned me and made me feel like I wasn't his equal.

On our way home I expected him to make his move -- surely a man as passionate as Rob couldn't send me to bed unsatisfied -- but that's exactly what he did. At my door he kissed me softly but firmly on the lips, smiled, and wished me sweet dreams. He'd call on me again the following Friday evening, if I desired, and I bloody well did!

Once gone, I burst into tears of confusion and happiness. Rob was a dream, but he'd left me wanting. My whole body ached to feel him next to me, to feel him inside me. God, he hadn't even spanked me!

"Bad date?" came the whisper from behind me. I didn't even turn.

"Great date," I said softly. "The best ever. Rob is a wonderful man."

"But you're home early," Heidi said.

I nodded.

"Ah! I think I understand."

If ever I'd needed an embrace it was that moment, and Heidi was there for me. I clung to her and wept boldly, sobbing more than I'd ever cried from her discipline.

"H-he... he didn't even _spank_ me!" I moaned.

"Shhhh," whispered Heidi. "Everything's okay, everything's okay."

The spanking that followed was one of the sweetest I'd ever known. Heidi was gentle but firm, rolling me across her lap and warming me with her hand before starting in with the slipper. I wept and wept and it was wonderful, blissful release. I knew what had to come and I feared it -- yet I knew I would accept it without question. It didn't even surprise me when Heidi ordered me to fetch the cane. As I carried that slender rod back to her, I realized how much I loved her. I kissed her cheek, then her mouth, and then bent obediently for her discipline.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 42
The Shopping Trip

(****, M/FF, Severe, Caning)

Erin gets her first taste of discipline from Rob. (Approximately 2,650 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Life with Rob changed everything. I was suddenly a giddy schoolgirl, silly and mindless as a teenager. I thought of little except for my weekly dates with him, and delighted in teasing him into taking me over his knee. A spanking from him inevitably concluded with both of us naked and wet and panting, precisely the result I intended all along.

Rob never spanked me as hard as that initial whipping at the salon, though his enthusiasm was just as intense. He joked that milder spankings meant he could spank me more often, but he also warned me that any serious misbehavior on my part would find me unable to sit comfortably for a week or more.

This delightful game continued for several months until I made my first real mistake. Heidi had been doing her best to make sure I didn't neglect my schoolwork, but with Rob on the brain, I was an even poorer student than usual. Even Heidi's cane did little to motivate me -- it only reminded me of my previous session with Rob and got me eager for the next.

After several particularly bad marks in history, however, followed by several particularly bad marks from Heidi's cane, I had come to a point where only an excellent score on a research paper would amend my grade to an acceptable level. Thus my Saturday was spent in the library, browsing through dusty tomes and dreaming of Rob. Because I needed to finish my schoolwork we couldn't meet that evening, so instead we'd made arrangements to meet briefly for tea at four o'clock.

Somehow my dreaming and my history paper addled my poor brain to such a point that I forgot the time, and it was past six when I realized I'd missed my appointment. I hastily rang him up at home and made my apologies, my heart trembling as I tried to imagine what fearful punishment Rob would devise for me.

But to my astonishment, Rob did not seem upset. He said he understood completely, and urged me to finish my paper . We would meet Sunday afternoon instead. In fact, if I finished my paper he had a shopping trip planned for me: something very special.

I was thrilled at the prospect of a special gift from Rob. I worked very hard that evening and finished my paper. Heidi galantly offered to proofread the masterpiece for me, with a penalty of only one stroke of the cane for every error she found, and after one more hasty rewrite, I agreed.

Seventeen sore marks later I wished I'd reread the paper better, but at least it was finished and the errors corrected. I went to sleep that night warm and contented, my mind whirling with excitement at the prospect of shopping with Rob. He'd never taken me shopping before -- my heart caught at the thought of expensive jewelry or perhaps a new dress.

Rob came by the apartment promptly at one o'clock. I was dressed casually in a slender dark green pantsuit. I always enjoyed the way the fit enhanced my figure and attracted Rob's eyes. He seemed quite pleased to see me, and excited about our plans for the day.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as the car zoomed up the road.

Rob just grinned. "You'll see," he said mysteriously. "But I'm sure you'll find it enlightening."

I didn't know what to make of that cryptic remark, and I burned with curiousity. But nothing I said revealed anything more than a sly smile from Rob, and I finally relaxed and resolved to simply wait and see.

We drove into a section of town that was unfamiliar to me. It was a very posh area of private homes and tiny exclusive shops. If Rob had not taken me there I should never have imagined that shops like that existed. Most were extremely elaborate with gold mouldings around the doorframes and fancy lace curtains in the windows. We parked and began to walk.

We passed a petite jewelry store that took my breath away twice -- once when I saw the magnificant merchandise in the window, and once again when I caught sight of the prices! There was a gold watch that cost more than my father earned in a year!

Still dizzy from such a sight, I nearly swooned when we passed a beautiful storefront that demonstrated elaborate examples of the store's exclusive designs of wedding gowns. They were surely the most magnificent dresses I'd ever seen.

But Rob did not stop. He marched on, finally arriving at a tiny, nearly insignificant door that bore the name "T.J. Hookam" in elegant gold script. There was nothing else to indicate what sort of place this was, and I was shocked when Rob opened the door and led me inside.

A butler met us immediately, leading us through the narrow corridor into a brightly lit room that was elegantly furnished with 18th century furniture and paintings. I felt as though I'd walked into a scene from a movie. Everything was gold and velvet and highly polished wood. The davenport was plush and comfortable, but I was nervous. My looks of puzzlement to Rob were ignored. I would have to wait. I sat miserably, feeling underdressed and far too modern.

Suddenly a gentleman appeared in the doorway. He was tall, very thin, and dressed in formal clothes. His hair was straight and very black. He and Rob immediately grinned and shook hands, and the man was introduced to me as "T. J. Hookam."

"So this is the lady," he said to me, bowing and kissing my hand. "You did not exaggerate, Mr. Allen. She is exquisite."

I blushed and looked away. The man's blue eyes were strange in contrast with his black hair. I felt something shiver inside me as I looked at him. It was though he saw me naked when he looked at me. My mouth suddenly seemed very dry.

"So, shall we get down to business?" said Rob, clapping his hands together.

"Certainly. Shall I bring you out a selection?" The man turned from me and focused on Rob.

"That would be fine. Remember, we are looking for the longest and the best."

"Of course."

The man snapped his fingers and the butler slipped away, only to return a moment later carrying a long wooden case. At first I thought it might be a musical instrument, but it was far too large for a flute, and as the case was narrow and flat, it couldn't hold a violin or horn.

T. J. placed the case on the long mahogony table and unsnapped the twin latches. "Here you are, Mr. Allen. The best money can buy." He flipped open the box.

My heart constricted so intensely I thought I'd collapse. My eyes flashed to Rob's and somehow, staring into those intense orbs, I gathered strength and managed not to fall.

Inside the case were three long ivory canes in velvet padding. These were like no canes I'd ever seen. They were polished smooth as glass and yet hard as steel. As Rob lifted one from the box and bent it, it bent easily, implying a whippiness that made my bottom tingle. I could not breathe as I watched the two men.

"Not bad," murmured Rob. "But something heavier might be more appropriate."

"There are three weights here. The one in your hand is called Stinger, and it is the lightest of these three. This one is named Burn and that one Fire. Of course there are others if these don't meet your needs. Would you care to test them?"

"That would be ideal."

T. J. nodded to the butler who pressed a small button on the wall. Scarcely ten seconds later a young girl in a maid's uniform appeared. She was slender and attractive, with dark red hair and fair skin. She blushed prettily and smiled at Rob. "At your service, sir."

Rob grinned and held up the cane. "I believe you know what this is designed for," he said softly.

The girl didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir. For my naughty bum, sir. How would you like me?"

Rob considered the matter. "Over the chair," he said finally, motioning to a large wooden armchair with plush velvet padding. The girl obeyed immediately, draping herself over the back so her legs weren't touching the ground. Her hands grasped the armrest as the butler came forward and calmly lifted her petite black skirt over her bum. He patted her rear and smoothed down her knickers.

"Many guests prefer to do the honors themselves," murmured T. J. with a restrained smile.

Rob nodded, laughing, and with a great deal more fuss than necessary, he managed to tug the girl's underwear to her ankles. I felt a hot flush of envy as I saw the girl's gorgeous backside. Her arse was a flawless ivory, creamy and deliciously plump. She'd obviously been selected for employment based upon her posterior assets and not her skills as a chambermaid. I could see the lust in the three men's eyes as they focused on that girl's bare bum. Suddenly I was violently jealous, wishing I was in the girl's place, waiting for a thrashing, despite the glum certainty that my own bum would be thrashed soon enough.

Each of the three canes was tested in turn, Rob employing all his considerable wiry strength to make certain the girl's porcelain bottom was left with deep crimson stripes. Stinger was disgarded immediately as being too light, and the last two were tested a second time. Not satisfied, Rob had the butler fetch another case with a selection of two slender brown canes, which were subsequently tested upon the poor chambermaid's upturned arse.

Rob didn't like either of the brown canes, so they were removed and three more were brought and tested. The maid's quivering bottom was now so well-striped it was difficult to tell one mark from the next, so Rob retried Fire and the brown named Striper across the back of the girl's thighs. During this entire process the girl had remained steadfast and quiet, but now she trembled as she waited Rob's verdict. He placed his face about two inches from her arse and studied the marks intently.

"Not bad," he said finally. "I think Fire is slightly more rigid and has a better bite. I just wish it were a little longer."

"We have two longer models of that one," said T. J.

The girl caught her breath in fear.

"Yes, let me try them," said Rob excitedly. "I want all the leverage I can get. Erin needs to really feel the thrashing she has coming."

I blushed violently as everyone, the girl included, glanced in my direction. The butler vanished again, but returned far too quickly with yet another case. This one was over four feet long. Inside were two enormously long white canes, very thick and sturdy. I shuddered as I Rob lifted one out.

"That is Agony," said T.J. "The other is Torture."

The girl was breathing softly and I saw a great deal of emotion in her eyes. She struggled far more than she let on. A bead of sweat clung to her forehead. She tensed as Rob approached with the new, even more wicked cane.

"This girl is well-marked," said T. J. to Rob. "You cannot see your fresh marks. I'll get you a new target." The girl's eyes went wide with hope at her master's words.

"Don't bother," Ron said, and the girl's face fell. I nearly smiled at her forlorn expression. But Rob's next words made my heart turn to ice.

"I've got my own girl," he said. "Erin, get over the chair next to this naughty maid. Since this is a gift for you, you might as well give me the benefit of your judgement."

With everyone looking at me, I couldn't disobey. I moved like a robot. The maid scooted to one side of the large chair, and I climbed up next to her. Our smiles of mutual suffering were brief but passionate. There was an instant kinship between us.

It was quickly discovered that my pantsuit created an awkward problem: my bottom could not be bared easily. I was forced to climb down off the chair and strip completely, standing naked before three men, before remounting the chair to receive my whipping. T.J. seemed to find this intensely amusing, but he had some degree of mercy. He promptly ordered the maid -- whom he called Sherry -- to strip to keep me company.

Thus it was two naked girls who dangled over the large stuffed chair, our twin bare bums waiting the terrible sting of the four-footer named Agony. The velvet cushion beneath me rubbed my nipples, driving me mad. Next to me I could feel Sherry's warm and quivering body, her nakedness and mine arousing me painfully. I could smell her arousal, too, and I longed to suck her large breasts.

But there would be no such relief for me. Instead my bare bum was met by the agony of a slender rod of wood swung through the air with astonishing power. It felt like a hot poker pressing into my tender flesh and it was all I could do not to sceam. But I had Sherry's calm example to follow and somehow swallowed and absorbed the pain, tears leaking out the corners of my eyes. It was far worse because of my humiliating situation. I would have taken a dozen strokes like it from Rob in private, but here, exposed in front of strangers, I felt nothing but bitter horror.

Strangely, Sherry's subsequent stroke brought me comfort. Her agony had to be more acute than mine, for her arse was already well-striped, but she did not make a sound. Still, I knew she was enduring agony, and we clung together, sisters in suffering.

After testing Agony and Torture on the both of us, Rob proceeded to compare those marks with those of Fire and Striper which he tested on me. He finally settled on Torture as his choice, but to be certain, he announced, he'd give me "six-of-the-best" and see what I thought of the cane.

"How's that, Erin?" he cried after several terrible cuts. "Will this cane suffice?"

"Yes, sir!" I sobbed, shivering in terror at the knowledge that more strokes remained. Sherry moved her head and kissed my cheek softly, her voice soothing.

"Just hold on," she whispered. "It will be over quickly."

To someone who isn't frequently caned it is impossible to understand the gradations of pain possible from such a slender instrument of punishment. During those six from Rob I grew to a vivid comprehension that Heidi's frequent canings, which were often a dozen strokes or more, as being nothing but a sexy game. This was _punishment_.

My misery was compounded by Rob's casual comment that I'd receive my "real" six at his home that evening. I lay over the chair and wept softly as Rob discussed payment with T. J. I wasn't privy to the results of the transaction, but I gathered it was a considerable sum. Sherry, still clinging to the chair next to me, gave me a gentle kiss and told me that I looked beautiful when I cried, and I nodded bitterly, whispering that Rob had told me that many times, and most likely that was why I was in the position I was in now.

"Don't knock it," Sherry hissed back at me. "Not many girls are lucky enough to have a man with a hand like his. God, that man can cane!"

I grinned despite myself, for I knew that there was something Rob did even better than caning -- and tonight, after my six strokes, I'd experience it until we both passed out!


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 43
More Education in Business

(***, F/F, Intense, Paddling)

Erin is forced to find new employement. (Approximately 1,456 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

One day Mrs. Dunst called me into her office. Her face was somber and grim, and I panicked, frantically wondering what mistake I'd made now.

"I've enjoyed having you as an employee," she began, and my heart nearly fell out onto the floor.

"But Mrs. Dun -- "

"Shhhhh," she said, holding up a hand. "Please, Erin. Let me finish. This is nothing to do with you. I'm closing the salon. My brother has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He's a bachelor, with no family, so I'm leaving in a few days to stay with him. It could be months, or even years, depending on how the disease progresses. He's a successful businessman, so I've got no financial worries. It seemed the simplest to close the shop.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice, but here's your full pay for the month. That should help until you can find something new."

Just like that, my brief career in haircare was over. The mysterious Mrs. Dunst, who had a secret room in the back of her shop for irate clients to discipline clumsy employees, would leave my life forever. I felt lonely and confused, and with Rob away on business, I turned to Heidi for comfort.

She scolded me soundly for my self-pity and ordered me to find new employment immediately. So the next morning I began browsing the employment advertisements, searching for a job with flexible hours and interesting work. What I found was nothing. The scarcity of employment worried me. The various hair salons I tried had nothing part-time, and in the end I settled on a retail environment, a classy reseller of women's footwear.

The owner was an elderly woman, tall and thin with dark glasses with tiny, thick lenses. Her name was Miss Swain and though somewhat severe and stern in appearance, she seemed kind and pleasant, and eager to replace her former employee, a French girl who'd returned home suddenly due to illness in the family.

My primary task was to catalog and store the stock that arrived each day or so, but I was also to return unsold merchandise to the manufacturers, to clean the place after closing, and to learn how to handle customers. This last part intrigued me the most, as, if I desired, I could augment my salary with commission of sales. I figured after my experience with clients at the salon this wouldn't be a problem, but I had not counted on the fickle nature of women buying shoes.

My first day began dismally enough, with a little mistake in labeling. Who knew that a 17-O was completely different than a 17-Zero? Miss Swain didn't seem to mind, however, merely correcting my error and remarking that I'd soon learn.

Throughout the day my tally of mistakes grew. I packaged shoes incorrectly. I referred to a long-time customer as a Mrs., when she really was a Miss. Attempting to vacuum the carpets after closing, I managed to knock over and crack an expensive vase. Fortunately it didn't break, and Miss Swain moved it to the far corner where the lighting was poor and no one would notice. It was with deep relief that my duties were finished, and I knocked on Miss Swain's door to bid her good-night.

She looked up from her book-keeping and motioned for me to enter. Her office, like the rest of the store, was immaculate and very posh. An original painting, a seascape, hung on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with heavy volumes of philosophy to business management covered another.

"So, did you enjoy your first day?" she asked me.

"It was challenging," I murmured tactfully. "I obviously have a great deal to learn. Thank you for being so gracious regarding my mistakes."

"Don't mention it," she said with a wave. "We shall take care of it now. Would you please open that cabinet over there?"

Miss Swain was pointing at an elaborate dresser made of fine cherry wood, with numerous drawers and cabinet doors. She directed me to the final door, which I opened with great curiousity. Inside was a flat oval-shaped wooden board about two feet long with a six inch leather handle. It reminded me strongly of Heidi's American paddle.

She bade me to bring it to her.

It was heavy and sturdily crafted. The edges had been sanded and polished into rounded curves, and the varnish was so thick I could almost see myself in the reflection.

"My nephew bought this for me in America," said the woman, carefully taking the board from my hands. "It was not long after I hired my first employee, a girl in school like yourself, who had the attention span of a gnat. She was careless and foolish and nothing I said brought any change in behavior. I was too tender-hearted to dismiss her, and until my nephew gave me this solution, she was ruining my business."

I smiled politely at the woman, wondering where she was going with her babble. My thoughts were on my plans for the evening, as Rob was taking me dancing. But the next words of the woman brought me fully to attention.

"So, Erin, I shall give you one stroke per error. According to my calculations, you have made 16 errors today, a new record, by-the-way. So please place yourself across my desk and I shall soundly administer appropriate punishment."

Suddenly the purpose of the wooden board was clear. Glumly I bent across the desk, wondering if I had any choice. I suppose I could have simply left, but I needed the job and in truth, I had earned the discipline.

Miss Swain beamed at me. "Excellent, dear Erin. I thought you were the obedient type." She walked around her desk and carefully lifted my dress. "You have a fine body, young lady. I assume you have a boyfriend?"

"Uh, yes Ma'am."

"Does he provide you with appropriate discipline when the need arises? I should think with you, it would arrive quite often." The woman's hand caressed the seat of my knickers, pinching my bum in a rather invasive action.

I licked my lips. "Yes, Ma'am."

"He spanks you soundly?"

"If needed, Ma'am."

"Glad to hear it, young lady. Too many young people today are completely without discipline and control. Consequences, even s minor one like a sore backside, are important to developing moral character."

I grunted in neutral agreement as I felt my underwear sliding down my thighs. Cold air drifted across my bottom and I reflected that no matter how familiar I was to this position, it continually surprised me. There was always something new, some fresh sensation I had missed previously. So much was familiar -- the coldness in my belly; the tension in my arms and legs as I waited for the inevitable; the deep thumping within my chest -- and yet so much was new: the strange Miss Swain, her hand-carved wooden paddle, and the posh, private confines of her elegant office. The sheer absurdity of my situation dazed me. I could not resist her instructions.

The paddling was a good one. The board was heavy and solid and each weighty whack jarred my entire body. It was nothing like the searing pain of a cane, but it burned healthily. In just a few moments my arse was on fire and I fidgeted impatiently, eager to conclude the punishment before it became really painful. I did not get my wish. My wiggling earned me two extra, and after eighteen full-blooded strokes my bottom was stinging so badly over such a large area I thought I'd never be able to sit down properly again.

"You may rise," said Miss Swain, allowing me to get up. I pulled my knickers up over my sore backside and smoothed down my skirt, wincing at every movement. It hadn't been a caning, but my eyes still stung with tears. I held the paddle with newfound respect and silently returned it to the case, shutting the door firmly.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I whispered, knowing it was what she wanted to hear. Strangely, a part of myself felt content. My nervousness was gone. I knew where I stood now. She understood me well, and I understood her better.

"Very well, Erin. You may go home. But remember -- every night we shall evaluate your work performance and deal with any 'consequences' that need to be dealt with. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I nodded. My heart was pumping vigorously as I left, the beating matching the tempo of the throb of my burning rear. My new job was going to be more interesting than I had expected.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 44
A Hard Thing

(****, F/F, Severe, Caning)

The tables are turned between Erin and Heidi. (Approximately 1,299 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

In the spring of that year Rob and I broke up. I write that so easily now, but he was my first true love, and I thought I'd die. I'd been considering marriage, entertaining the delightful idea without mentioning it to Rob. He seemed to pick up the vibes, however, and began to grow distant on me. His business trips took him away for longer and longer periods. One day, while waiting for him at his office, I overheard one of his colleagues kid to another that Rob's "Paris girl" was keeping him in France more than usual. Presumably this was just office gossip, and probably not that accurate, but it hurt me nonetheless. Confronting Rob showed me the truth in his eyes. He couldn't deny it completely, and though I suspected the girl didn't have the relationship we had, it didn't matter. Rob and I were through.

For weeks afterword I couldn't eat. I hardly slept, took to wearing slovenly clothes, and snapped at Heidi to the point where she'd barely speak to me. My schoolwork took a dismal turn for the worse, and considering it wasn't that great to begin with, my education was in serious jeopardy. I endured several bitter sessions with Professor Boron and his cane, but my attitude didn't change. Miss Swain never failed to notice my poor performance at work, and my after-closing visits to her office grew longer and longer as she found more and more faults in my work.

I didn't care, however. I didn't care about anything. Heidi's beatings only made me angry, not frightened, and I refused to play any of her games. I knew this hurt her deeply, but again, I didn't care. Like a mortally wounded animal, I retreated into my cave and licked my wounds in self-pity, growling at anyone who attempted to help.

One evening I heard Heidi weeping. I hadn't even been aware she was home. I thought she'd had a date or something. Something in her voice touched me, and I slowly came out of my room. Heidi was lying facedown on the couch. She wore her bathrobe.

I sat down beside her and stroked her long hair. She didn't look at me, but sobbed harder into the pillow. I didn't know what to say.

After a long while, Heidi stood suddenly, and rushed to the closet. I knew what was inside and hot anger flooded my cheeks as she emerged carrying her cane.

"Listen here, you hussy!" I screamed. "Rob's the one who needs the cane, not me!"

Heidi ignored my outburst and simply stepped out of her robe. She was naked underneath, her slender and seductive body drawing my admiration despite my anger. She handed me the cane and laid down on the sofa. It was obvious what she intended. I stood there stunned, the long cane stiff in my hand.

"Heidi, I can't whip you," I began, but her hand went up, silencing me. She motioned to the cane and then patted her bum.

"Give it to me good. I deserve it, and I need a friend like you to give it to me."

"What have you done?" I cried, tears stinging my eyes. "Why do you deserve it?"

"Just do it!"

The raw fury in Heidi's voice astonished me. I stepped back in puzzlement. Lifting the cane and flexing it with both hands, I stared at Heidi's plump buttocks. They were sleek and round and looked like they'd take a caning well. I'd ached to punish them since I'd first met, Heidi, but I loved her too much to hurt her.

I put down the cane. "You must cane me," I said firmly. "I'm the one who deserves it."

Heidi didn't answer for a moment, and I felt a miserable coldness in my belly. Her silence spoke loudly of her disagreement with my suggestion.

When she finally spoke, her voice was icy and eerily calm. "I will only tell you this once, Erin. Pick up the fucking cane and beat me with it. If you do not, then turn and leave my apartment and never come back."

I could only stare at Heidi in disbelief. If she had stabbed me with a knife I couldn't have been more surprised. Nothing made any sense. Wild emotions tore through me, tugging me in different directions.

"Heidi -- " I pleaded, but there was no answer.

Dismally, I picked up the cane. It looked different to me now. It was strange and foreign. I lifted it high above my head and brought it down with a vicious swish right across the plumpest portion of Heidi's bottom. The crack was like the report of a rifle. Heidi tensed wildly, every limb stiffening as she struggled with the terrible pain.

Heidi's cane was a light one. Her inexperience when she'd bought it was showing through. I had gotten to where I could take two dozen of her best strokes with a smile. But Heidi had never been caned before. It had been years since she'd even been spanked, long ago in Missouri. To her this pain was agony unbounded, and I wept as I beat her, knowing how much more this hurt her than me.

After a stiff dozen I stopped, but Heidi snapped a furious "More! Don't stop!" and I was forced to continue. As I thrashed her, watching her beautiful pale bottom cheeks become striped and welted, I felt my anger at Rob growing. I whipped her harder, wishing it was Rob who lay there. Soon I was in a furious state, whipping the cane down mindless, no longer caring what agony I inflicted on poor, innocent Heidi.

Suddenly rationality returned and I threw the cane down in bitter disgust. Heidi's ass was thrashed beyond recognition. It was crisscrossed with such a mass of black bruises and purple welts that the individual strokes were undetectable. I sobbed and knelt on the floor next to the sofa, pressing my face against Heidi's tortured skin. My tears dribbled down and splashed across her buttocks and I felt Heidi's body shuddering.

We embraced, a violent, passionate embrace that took my breath away. Suddenly I was kissing Heidi, and then she was tearing off my nightgown to lick and bite my stiff nipples. I climbed onto the couch next to her, my hands caressing her body. I felt her fingers between my legs, scratching at my sex. I became alive there, so quickly and fully I couldn't believe it. I was bursting with moisture. I slipped my hand down and discovered Heidi was drenched with wetness. The couch was stained with the results of her orgasms, most likely achieved while I beat her.

I grasped Heidi's blistered arse in my hands and pulled her tightly against me, enjoying the frantic seizures her body experienced at this fresh onslaught of pain.

"Oohhhhhh," she moaned, biting my ear and licking my face and neck. Her hand was under my knickers now, fingering and fondling me. Suddenly I was the one crying out and shuddering, and then we both were.

What followed was a sweaty, passionate lovefest that lasted for hours. We feel asleep on the living room floor and didn't wake up until morning. When I awoke I saw dear Heidi lying next to me, her naked body sprawled in a decadent, careless fashion. Her buttocks were swollen and purple, but she wore a delectable smile on her face.

And to my surprise, i realized that for the first time in weeks, not only had I slept the entire night, but I was famished. I carefully extracted myself from Heidi's sleepy embrace and headed for the kitchen for breakfast. Perhaps life still contained hope after all.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 45
A Visitor From the Past

(****, F/F, Severe, Whipping, caning)

She's back. (Approximately 1,246 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Shortly after I caned Heidi, she left for the United States for a few weeks to visit family. It was a long-planned trip, but the timing couldn't have been worse. Heidi and I had just reestablished our relationship, and late at night, as I lay in my lonely bed, I ached to feel her loving discipline. Heidi, too, seemed to feel our bond, for she telephoned me twice, telling me how much she missed me. I was miserably alone. No boyfriend and no roommate.

After the second week of this torment, and a complaint to Heidi during one of her calls, she hinted that she had a solution.

"What is it?" I asked. "Are you returning early?"

"No. I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise? What is it!" I cried without thinking.

"You should receive it on Saturday. Plan to stay at home as I'm not sure what time it will arrive."

My curiosity piqued, I spent the next few days in dread anticipation. Whatever the surprise was, it had to be special. I couldn't quite picture how it would solve my loneliness, but I doubted it could hurt.

On Saturday, time passed even slower, and by noon I was nearly frantic. I tried reading, but couldn't concentrate. The telly just bored me, and I was constantly turning down the sound, imagining I'd missed hearing a knock.

When the knock actually came, right at two o'clock on the dot, I was startled I didn't answer it immediately. I stared at the door, positive I'd been imagining things. But there came -- a sharp, confident rapping. Someone was there.

Nothing prepared me for the sight when I opened the door. Standing in the opening was none other than Miss Arler. My jaw bounced off the floor and I screamed in excitement and welcomed her in. She was as beautiful as ever, though age lines showed when she smiled. Her body seemed fit and healthy, and I wept with delight.

"Oh, Miss Arler, it is so good to see you! You must tell me everything. It has been so long! How's the school? Do you still teach riding?"

I babbled on so that the woman could barely answer my questions, but she assured me that all was well with her and with the school. I asked about my old friend Jessie, and Miss Arler told me she had grown into a wonderful young woman, and had moved to Paris to study art.

Time flashed by and it was soon time for tea. Miss Arler watched me assemble an assortment of goodies, apologizing for not being more prepared.

"If I'd known you were coming I'd have baked," I said. "How on earth did you find me?"

Miss Arler sipped her tea and smiled. "I believe you have an American friend who loves you very much," she said.

I felt like a fool. "You're the package!" I cried, and then blushed furiously. "I mean -- "

My old teacher laughed gaily, "I've never been described in that manner before, but I understand. Heidi and I agreed to keep my visit a surprise."

"But how -- "

"Oh, it wasn't hard. You've told Heidi a great deal about me. I haven't moved. She simply rang up directory assistance and tracked me down. I must say I was curious to see how you'd turned out myself. You are looking quite lovely, and healthly, though your clothes look a little shoddy."

This last was uttered with a critical eye, and I stared at the floor in shame and my heart quivered frantically. I couldn't begin to count the number of times I'd tasted Miss Arler's stern crop for my disheveled appearance. Fortunately, she didn't look dressed for riding today. She wore a long maroon and white dress, tastefully cut to her slender figure. She didn't even look like a teacher -- more like a countess out shopping.

"Hold your head up, Erin dear," murmured the woman gently. "I will not having you shirking your responsibilities. What have I always taught you? If you make a mistake you own up to and accept the consequences, no matter how dreadful. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I sighed. A warmth had begun in belly as thought of what Miss Arler's presence meant. It had been a long time since our last meeting, and with Heidi gone, weeks since anyone had taken care of my discipline. I was nervous, for I knew too well Miss Arler's sternness, but a large part of me craved that loving attention.

Without a word I stood and went to the hall closet. Inside hung our collection of discipline implements. Miss Arler watched me, then put down her teacup. She walked to the closet and eyed the white cane and the various leather straps and paddles thoughtfully.

"I see you are well prepared," she said in a pleased voice. She selected a leather paddle and stepped to the sofa. Slowly and carefully, but with remarkable efficiency, she stripped off her clothes. I watched her with open admiration, noting that her body was nearly as flawless as I'd always remembered. When she was naked, she motioned for me to join her.

I obeyed instantly, walking to the sofa and stripped quietly. Neither of us spoke. Words would have only confused what we already knew. As I stretched my naked body across the bare thighs of my former teacher, quivers of fear and delight passed through me. I could scarcely believe this was happening again. Heidi deserved someone far better than me in her life -- she was an angel, sending me this gift.

With a deep sigh I settled into the punishment, the strong hands of Miss Arler alternated between massaging the cheeks of my behind and vigorously paddling the plump flesh. It was glorious and devastating. I moaned and wiggled and offered everything to Miss Arler. She held nothing back but gave me everything she had.

How long that evening lasted I shall never know. It was dawn when she left, both our bottoms scorched and burned with dozens of well-used implements. My memories were a hazy fog of joyous submission and acceptance, and unbelievable pleasures. By midnight I'd lost count of the number of orgasms I'd had, though I knew it was well into double digits. Miss Arler, too, seemed moved beyond what I'd ever seen of her. She was relaxed and grateful and told me how much she'd always loved me. I told her I'd never doubted it for an instant, and she wept large tears onto my breasts and belly, and then softly laid her head in my lap and slept for a while.

In the early morning hours we said our mutual good-byes with thirty strokes of a leather strap to the insides of our thighs, being excruciatingly careful to _not_ whip our dripping sexes, despite the overwhelming temptation. Miss Arler claimed this would only enhance our punishment, and she was absolutely correct. The following two dozen with the cane were devastating. I surely came three or four times during my session, and probably twice during hers.

Miss Arler left with a gentle kiss and a smile, and a promise to return. My spirits soared, and when Heidi telephoned later that evening, I told her every detail, and thanked her profusely. Then I went for a long soak in the bath. My body and mind needed it.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 46
Crash!

(****, M/F, Edgy, Whipping, caning)

Erin pays for a mistake. (Approximately 2,688 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Life had settled into a predictable routine. Heidi was back from her trip to America and our nights were mixed with delicious pleasure and pain. My work at the shoe store was progressing so well I frequently had to fabricate excuses for Miss Swain to paddle me. We'd increased the consequences to ten swats per mistake, yet it was rare for me to receive more than fifty a week. Even my focus on my studies had increased and my grades had improved dramatically. Everything was looking up except for one area: I had no man in my life.

I wasn't sure I needed one. Heidi was pursuing a guy named Steve, but I was content. There were several men who intrigued me, but nothing had happened yet. I decided not to let it concern me.

It was during this time I met M. Porteau, a French businessman. Our meeting was not a pleasant one. I was walking home one evening after work, lost in the clouds of daydreams and still thinking about the delicious stinging in my rear from Miss Swain's paddle, when suddenly I heard the screech of tires followed by a terrible crunching sound. I whirled around to discover a car had crashed into a lightpost not ten feet from me!

The man emerging from vehicle was large and portly, but appeared to be fine other than a bit dazed. To my astonishment, he began waving at me furiously and shouting in rapid French!

It had been years since my French lessons, and the man spoke with such vigor it took me considerable effort to comprehend what he was saying. People were gathering to stare and point when I finally understood that I was being blamed for the crash!

At first I was angry. How dare this man blame his foolish driving on me! But then I came to the sudden realization that I was standing in the middle of the street. I had not moved since the accident, and it dawned on me that I had heard a vague honking sound just before the crash. I had been deep in my thoughts -- was it possible I had wandered into the street without realizing it? It didn't seem likely, but what else was logical? Here I had blundered right into the road and caused this man to wreck his vehicle.

Suddenly I was much nicer to the man, and spoke to him as best I could in my schoolgirl French, haltingly explaining how sorry I was. The man calmed somewhat, and spoke to me in English.

"You stupeed girl! I could 'ave killed you!"

"Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry! I was just walking and thinking and I must not have been watching where I was going...." Quite overcome, I burst into tears.

"Oh, madamoiselle! Do not cry. I am not so angry now. See? It is only the headlamp that is broken. It is a rental, anyway. The insurance will take care of it. Do not worry."

The man gathered me into his arms, embracing me tightly.

"Oh, monsieur! You are very kind," I sobbed. Gradually my breathing returned to normal and I stopped crying. I became aware of how closely I was pressed against the man. My breasts had nearly disappeared into his voluminous body. I was also painfully aware of a heavy hand resting in an intimate fashion on my bum. I jerked away.

"You are very foolish girl." His eyes were narrow and sharp, his lips a cold greedy snarl.

"Yes."

"You do not watch where you walk. You do not stop when I press the horn."

"I am sorry."

"Bah! Sorry. What is that? That is nothing! I, too, am sorry. But it does not repair my car."

"Oh! But I thought you said -- "

"No, you do not think. Come, we go. We discuss away from people."

I looked up and saw that a large crowd had gathered. Most were young men from a nearby pub. I hesitated to go with the man, however.

"Come, we go. The police arrive soon. You want police?"

That I certainly did not want, and quickly followed the man to his car. The car was fine except for the broken headlight, but as it wasn't dark, it was safe enough to drive. A moment later we'd left the scene. The man, who introduced himself as M. Porteau, drove me to his hotel. Along the way it quickly became clear what he wanted.

He placed a hand on my knee as he drove, and he did not move it, even when I shifted my legs. Gradually his hand slid up my thigh, and he leaned toward me, speaking softly as he implied all sorts of terrible things that would happen to me should he report the accident. I might go jail, he said. For certain I would be fined. He'd also file a lawsuit. He'd bankrupt my parents, if I didn't have money. Perhaps he'd contact the school and see that I was expelled. Everyone would know. My family, my friends, everyone.

He parked along a darkened sidestreet near his hotel and turned to me. The alternative, he explained, was that he could be discrete. It could be just between us. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Please, monsieur," I begged. "I am a good girl from a good family."

"More reason to keep this between us," he hissed, his tiny round eyes darting over my body.

I shuddered. The thought of this man touching me in the manner he so obviously desired was repulsive. I could not bear it.

"Fine, then. Report me to the police. Tell everyone. I don't care! I wouldn't sleep with you for a million pounds!"

The man's lips curled into a deadly grimace. "You think you too good for me, English bitch? I ought to flog you!"

"I'd rather be flogged than sleep with a pig like you!"

The man's greedy eyes went wide and his palm snuck out and smacked my face, hard. "You talk nice, girl, or shall indeed flog you!"

I stared at him in dull comprehension. It was as a door opened in my brain. There was something in the way this man spoke of flogging me -- a seriousness that made me think he wasn't kidding. It gave me a way of escape.

I licked my lips, slowly, as though contemplating his offer. When I spoke my voice was low, seductive, and I smiled shyly at looked at him from the tops of my eyes.

"You -- you wish to punish me, sir?"

The man sat back slightly, his face flushed with excitement and lust.

"In my family, we beat foolish, disobedient girls like you."

I nodded sadly. "I am a foolish girl. I deserve to be punished."

"A beating does a girl much good," said the man, his hand lightly caressing my shoulder.

I looked at him straight in the eyes. This was the critical moment. "If..." -- here I paused dramatically -- "If you were to punish me, my debt would be clear. No police, no trial, no lawsuit." I carefully lifted the man's hand off my shoulder.

The man grunted, moving his hand back. "You are naughty girl. One beating is only beginning."

"Two then. One tonight, the other on Saturday. That's it."

The man smiled greedily, his hand sinking lower to my chest. "I flog you hard, very hard. You will weep."

I shrugged, pretending to not be concerned, casually pushing his hand away from my breast. "We English are tough," I murmured.

"I beat you naked."

"If you want," I said, staring at him boldly. "But when the beating is over, I go home. That's it."

For a moment he wavered, but I'd judged his desires well. His eyes glowed at the thought of punishing me. Girls for sex were plentiful, especially for a wealthy foreigner, but few would submit to a whipping. I knew he'd hurt me, but I had been honest when I'd said I'd rather be whipped than prostituted.

M. Porteau restarted the car, then, and we drove to a different hotel. A short time later we were in a private suite. Immediately the man ordered me to get undressed. Though nervous, I did as he asked. He watched me disrobe, licking his lips and grunting.

When I was naked, he made me lie down across the foot of the bed with my arse in the air behind me. I heard the dreadful sound of a leather belt sliding through belt loops and I waited. My body tingled in anticipation. My earlier paddling from Miss Swain had only been ten strokes, enough to excite me. Now I was eager to feel pain. I closed my eyes and imagined it was lovely Heidi beating me, that I'd left the milk out, or forgotten to feed the cat -- she'd leap at any excuse to punish me.

The first stroke was longer in coming than I had expected, considering M. Porteau's eagerness. But it was well worth the wait. Despite my revulsion of him, he was an excellent flogger. His beating was hard and deliberate. Every stroke was precise and thorough. It was a full hour before his passion overtook his reason and then he became wild, whipping me frantically in a frenzy of mindless lust. He thrashed my buttocks, my legs, even my back. I'd never been whipped there before. If he'd begun there I wouldn't have liked it at all, but by this point I was lost in the fog of pain and welcome everything.

When the whipping finally stopped I saw M. Porteau had collapsed in a slump on the floor, overcome by his own exertions. He was naked, the gross flesh of his belly literally covering his privates, though I could see a fresh white stain on the dark carpet near where he sat. I calmly stood and dressed, thanking him for his discipline, and telling him I'd meet him at this hotel on Saturday at nine o'clock sharp. He nodded, still panting to heavily to speak. I departed quickly, before he regained his strength.

Saturday I kept my word, arriving just before nine. M. Porteau was waiting in the lobby, smoking a large cigar and waving to me eagerly. He was in a jovial mood, and I smelled liquor on his breath. He had obviously been anticipating this for several days. I hoped my bottom would be able to withstand his passion.

In the room I quickly stripped, letting the man admire my body. If I had desired him, I would have been more cautious, more self-conscious, but I hated this ugly Frenchman and just wanted our agreement finished.

On the bed I saw that this time the man had come prepared. There were several leather whips, a short riding crop, a flat wooden paddle, and a long white cane. I swallowed nervously. I had begged my way out of a caning from Heidi this morning, knowing what I had coming tonight, but she had agreed only when I promised she could give me double tomorrow. This weekend was going to be a challenge.

The Frenchman quickly stripped off his clothes and ordered me across his naked lap. I did this gingerly, the feel of his flabby flesh repulsive to me. He gripped me tightly, his heavy left arm wrapping around my waist. With his right hand he took up the small wooden paddle and began to beat my bum. It was hard and painful. For a long time neither of us made a sound. The room was quiet except for the steady smacking of the paddle, and the occasional grunt from him as he struggled to beat me harder, and the harsh hiss of my agonized breathing. Finally, when I was long done weeping and ready to scream to break the tension, he stopped.

I lay silently, my chest heaving, my bottom still wiggling as though he had never stopped beating it. His hand rested on my rear and fondled it. Instead of being revolted, I welcomed the touch. My flesh was so hot anything felt good. Even when his thick fingers pushed between my thighs I did not resist, letting him soak his hand in my wetness.

"You bad girl," he growled, wiping his damp fingers on my blistered and bruised cheeks. I did not answer. "We try the martinet?"

This was a whip to his liking, long with multiple tails, and he proceeded to lay me out on the bed and whip me all over. I scarcely cared. My fingers had found their way inside me and I was nearly oblivious to his administrations. Fortunately for me, my actions excited him and thus he didn't stop me. I masturbated myself into countless orgasms.

Finally growing bored with this, he had me stand and take whippings while jogging in place, crawling, standing on my head while braced against the wall. It was in this position he used the short riding crop on my pussy and the insides of my thighs. I was upside down, blood flooding my head, making me dizzy and confused, while miles above I could feel hot stings of pain to my tender thighs and sensitive sex.

He did not neglect my breasts, either, but pinched and whipped them in several positions, especially enjoying tormenting my nipples with the tip of the crop. Each time I shuddered and shook with the shock of pain as the tip lashed a nipple, he laughed, a low growl of animal contentment, and he repeated the gesture on another nipple. It took him a very long time to tire of this game, and I was a nervous, mindless wreck when he finally returned his attentions to my ass.

I was already well-beaten, but he had yet to use the cane. Thus I was not surprised when I saw him flexing it, admiring the stiff whippiness of the slender rod. It was a heavy senior cane, designed for brief but severe punishment, but I doubted he knew that. The cane was a new toy for him and I suspected, quite rightly as he soon proved, that he intended to give me a long and serious beating with it.

It was nearly two o'clock before I stumbled home, feverish and nearly incoherent. I had intended to keep my activities private, but Heidi was waiting for me. Her anger at my lateness vanished when she saw my condition. I could scarcely talk, but I managed to briefly explain what had happened, and the complete story, of course, was written all over my body.

Heidi was livid, swearing and weeping and cursing, and threatening to call the police, her new boyfriend, or the French embassy. Somehow I persuaded her to keep quiet. She bathed and dressed my wounds, dripping hot tears on me as she continued to rant, and finally she put me to bed, lying beside me for most of the night, whispering in my ear and gently caressing my hair.

It was two days before I could care for myself, and a week before I returned to work or school. I told no one what had happened, and Heidi kept her promise to keep it a secret. She told everyone I had a horrible case of the flu, and as it was dreadfully contagious, I had no visitors.

On Tuesday Heidi contacted M. Porteau's hotel -- for what reason I don't even want to know -- and discovered he had departed for France on Sunday, the day after our final little session. I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, the affair was over, my wounds would heal, and nothing could erase what had happened. In two weeks I was my normal self again, flirting and teasing Heidi to get her to punish me.

Heidi was reluctant, however, spanking me only with her hand and continually pausing and asking if I was okay. It was nearly three weeks before I managed to get a good caning out of her. I swear it took her longer to recover than me.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 47
Heidi Gets a Boyfriend

(****, M/FF, Severe, Caning)

Erin meets Heidi's new boyfriend. (Approximately 1,320 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Not long after the appalling incident with M. Porteau, Heidi introduced me to her new boyfriend, Steve. He was an older man, perhaps 30, who ran his own real estate company. He seemed charming and he was disgustingly handsome, though a touch anal for my tastes. He despised our "filthy" apartment and he constantly complained that Heidi was always late. I doubt he'd ever been late for anything in his life. In fact, I said as much to him once and in a completely serious tone, he commented that he'd even been born exactly on schedule, conveniently arriving during his father's lunch break.

About a month after our first meeting, I overheard Steve scolding Heidi for failing to stop completely at a stop sign while she was driving his car. I expected Heidi to respond with resentment and anger, but instead she was contrite and subdued, apologizing profusely for her "mistake in judgment." Steve responded by saying that they'd "deal with it tonight" and shortly afterward the couple left for his house, Heidi looking quiet and nervous.

Heidi's behavior puzzled me, for normally she is extremely assertive and lets no one -- especially a man -- tell her what to do.

A couple days later Heidi and I had a little emergency. We'd spent the morning window shopping and trying on dresses, but we hadn't yet bought anything. As my finances were rather tight I wasn't legitimately interested in purchasing anything, but Heidi had received a gift of some money from an uncle in America. It was fun shopping with her money.

At noon we ate lunch at a rather posh little restaurant. It was expensive, but Heidi insisted it be her treat. Imagine her horror and embarrassment when, upon preparing to leave, she discovered she had forgotten her pocketbook at home!

Under most circumstances I would have simply taken care of the matter myself, but in this case I'd purposely left all my money at home lest I be tempted to spend it. There was nothing for us to do but to call Steve and hope he'd come to get us.

Unfortunately, Steve was out, showing a business client an office complex, but we managed to have him paged and within fifteen minutes he returned Heidi's call. I didn't hear his voice, but I watched Heidi's face growing pale and her voice go soft as she pleaded and apologized.

"What did he say?" I asked when she hung up the phone. "Is he coming?"

"He'll be here in an hour," she nodded somberly. "But he's extremely upset." She seemed strangely nervous, glancing around at the other diners as though she suddenly discovered she had walked in naked. She dragged me back to our table, quickly ordering us fresh drinks. I didn't really want another one, but she insisted.

"You'll need it," she hissed. "Steve's furious."

"So?"

Heidi's eyes went wide as she stared at me. "You, of all people, should appreciate it when a lover is angry with you."

"You mean..."

"Yes," she murmured, looking away.

"I had no idea!" I exclaimed. "What does he use?"

She shrugged. "Normally a slipper or leather strap, but for this I have no doubt it will be the cane."

I nearly choked on my drink, imagining Heidi's sweet bottom criss-crossed with scarlet tramlines. The thought of the tall, handsome Steve wielding the long rattan sent shivers of excitement through me. Perhaps....

It was approximately fifty minutes and two drinks later that Steve appeared. His face was dark and his lips pursed into a thin line of barely contained fury. He didn't say a word to either of us but simply took the bill to the clerk and paid it, while the two of us fidgeted behind him.

No one spoke the entire drive home. Steve parked and followed us into our apartment. I could see Heidi was frightened and contrite and a portion of her nervousness had leaked into me. Steve slammed the door solidly behind him and whirled on us.

"Thanks for helping us," I said quickly, hoping to stem his anger with flattery, but my voice dropped off as I received the full impact of his glare. He was an intense man and something in his eyes made me shiver and stare at my toes.

"The two of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves," he began. "What kind of a fool goes shopping without any money!"

"I'm sorry," wailed Heidi. I nearly expected her to drop to her knees and beg. I was much sterner, eying Steve coldly with my arms folded in front of me.

Steve ignored me. "Strip, both of you. I think some discipline is in order."

I stared at Heidi in horror. She was already slipping off her dress. What had I done? Surely I couldn't be blamed for her silliness. But apparently I was guilty by association. Steve turned to me with raised eyebrows, his question obvious. I felt a sharp tingle in my belly, and then a warmness deep below that. I kicked off my shoes and began to pull off my shirt.

In all too short of a time we were both completely naked, standing nervously before Steve. For a long moment he said nothing, admiring our bodies with his eyes and glaring at us. Heidi and I stood with our heads down, afraid to meet his glance.

"Heidi," he said finally, "fetch me the cane."

With fascinated horror I watched a naked Heidi hurry to the hall closet and remove my cane. She hurried back, presenting it to Steve with a bow. Steve took it, glancing at his watch as he took it.

"I've got a meeting in twenty minutes, so this will be quick," he said. "Heidi, you first."

My roommate quickly turned and bent at the waist, grasping her ankles with her hands. Her plump rear pointed prominently at Steve. He waisted no time but delivered six sharp cuts within about sixty seconds. Heidi cringed and wiggled and moaned, but remained in position.

Then it was my turn.

Grabbing my ankles was a familiar position, but seeing the looming shadow of Steve behind me, the thin line of the cane raised above his head, was not. I gasped sharply as the first cut stung me. Again and again it came down, sting after sting. All were placed right in the center of my bottom.

After the sixth I stood awkwardly, my bottom tingling and burning in a couple dozen distinct places.

"Get back down!" Steve snapped at me. "That's two extra for rising."

I hastily returned to my ankle-grabbing position. I saw that Heidi had not risen, but waited patiently for her second set of six.

These delivered, Heidi was allowed to stand and go to the corner, her back to me. She stood with her hands behind her head and I could see her bottom was very red with a bright collection of crimson lines gathered near the center. He had not spread the blows. I was expert enough in caning to know what that meant -- he was not finished.

My second set quickly followed, each stroke drawing forth a groan from my straining body. Steve caned very hard and efficiently. Tears burned in my eyes. After the six I waited to be allow to stand when there was another cut. I'd forgotten about my two extra, but Steve had not. The last one was a particularly vicious one to my upper thighs and I squealed loudly.

A moment later Steve was gone. Two somber, tear-stained faces stared at corners woefully, the final words of our chastiser ringing in our ears: "Do not move until I tell you. I shall be back at six to finish your punishment."

Heidi and I glanced at each other, our hearts pounding with excitement and fear. He was coming back!


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 48
A Business Client

(****, F/F, Serious, Spanking)

Erin plays naughty games. (Approximately 2,400 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The caning from Steve seemed to set a turning point in my life. Everything settled into a predictable routine. At work I was paddled by Miss Swain. At home Heidi would take me over her knee for long, loving spankings with hand and hairbrush, and later in the evening Steve would cane us both. I often sat on the living room sofa, my bottom tingling with the dull burning of a half-dozen fresh stripes, listening to Heidi in her bedroom, receiving a thorough and elaborate slippering from Steve. These were long, drawn-out affairs, lasting an hour or more. I felt both sorry and jealous of poor Heidi. I knew that after Steve left she'd be blissfully happy, wandering the apartment with a dazed, just-fucked look. Me? All I got was a miserably sore bottom!

Just when the predictableness was getting to me, I met a new client at work. Her name was Mrs. Beecher, and though that sounds like the name of a dowdy middle-ager, she was, in fact, scarcely older than me. Her husband was Mr. James Beecher, the wealthy owner of Beecher Liquors. They'd been married a year earlier in a rather scandlous affair as he was forty-nine and she was not yet twenty. Everyone had assumed she was after his money.

The truth was that Sarah Beecher was in love with the man, but he barely noticed she existed. Oh, Saturday nights were special, and perhaps on holidays, or when work was going smoothly and he'd get that gleam in his eyes, but generally he worked and she was home alone. He wasn't a bad man, just focused. He existed to work and anything else was but a momentary distraction.

I know these things because Sarah and I became intimate friends. She spent a great deal of her lonely life shopping, especially for shoes. She had lovely feet, slender and petite, and would spend hours at the shop trying on dozens of pairs.

At first we talked only casually, and formally, but gradually, most likely because of our similar ages, we became friends. Since we got along so well, Miss Swain allowed me exclusive rights to Sarah as a customer. Sarah stopped by more and more often and I soon realized she was dreadfully lonely.

One day I suggested we have dinner after the shop closed. Sarah agreed immediately -- her husband rarely arrived home before nine, so she nearly always dined alone. When it was time to close I let Sarah out and locked the front door. I told her I'd meet her at the rear entrance in ten minutes.

Unfortunately it seemed I'd made a couple mathematical errors on a receipt that day, and Miss Swain insisted on carrying out the terms of our bargain before I was allowed to leave.

"That's three mistakes, today," she scolded. "Your attention has been wandering lately. We shall rectify that immediately. What shall it be: the paddle or the strap?"

Miss Swain had recently acquired a heavy leather strap which she used in addition to the paddle. It was now twenty spanks with the paddle per mistake, or ten with the strap. The strap was faster but left welts that tended to ache for a longer period.

"The strap, Ma'am," I sighed, assuming the classic position over her desk chair and waiting while she tugged my knickers down and lifted my skirt.

"I see you got the cane recently," she said, clucking her tongue with disapproval. "You are incorrigible!"

She proceeded to lash my bottom thoroughly with the strap, going well beyond the thirty due me. This was also a recent development -- she never said a word but simply spanked beyond the count, and for some reason obscure even to myself, I never protested.

After nearly fifty, she allowed me to stand and dress, and she sent me home with a gentle kiss and a reminder to be at work on time the next day.

Outside, I found Sarah standing by the door, a strange expression on her face. My cheeks flushed crimson as I realized she had heard everything, for Miss Swain's office is flush with the back wall of the building.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, her eyes shining boldly.

"Fine."

"Your boss seems very nice," she hinted boldly, looking off into the evening sky.

"She keeps me in line."

Sarah's eyes widened at that and I saw her suck her lower lip into her mouth and bite it. When she spoke her voice was far too casual. "And how does she do that?"

I turned to look at Sarah, no shame on my face. I could see the greedy look in her eyes and I knew she would understand. "She whacks me," I said bluntly. "Usually with a large wooden paddle she got from America, but sometimes with a heavy leather strap."

Sarah's pretty face flushed heavily and her blue eyes bulged. "And you -- "

"I only get what I deserve."

Sara licked her lips thoughtfully. "How appropriate," she murmured. She hesitated. "Perhaps we should have dinner at my house, rather than a public restaurant."

My belly quivered. The thought of playing naughty games with this delicate, proper girl thrilled me.

I nodded. "If you'd like."

Sarah's home proved to be an elegant mansion on the East side of town in an exclusive district. As I marveled at the marble floors and expensive decor, Sarah called the butler and informed him it would be two for supper promptly at eight o'clock. She then coldly told him that we desired privacy and he was to see that no servants went upstairs.

"Call us when dinner is ready, Alfred," she said. "Otherwise, no disturbances."

"Very well, madam," said the portly, older gentleman, bowing and vanishing.

Giggling wildly, Sarah grasped my hand and dragged me up a huge marble staircase. "Come on," she cried.

Inside her room, I stood entranced at the magnificent size and elegant furniture. Sarah kicked off her shoes and began to undress. I watched, nervously, as she stripped to just her petite pale blue knickers and padded across the huge room to a closet door. I must admit she was a gorgeous darling, so innocent and charming to took my breath away. I was jealous of her large, round breasts, and the way she walked, casual and graceful and utterly without shame.

Opening the closet, Sarah disappeared inside. When she emerged, my mouth opened in surprise. Before me wasn't a sophisticated, wealthy socialite, but a delectable schoolgirl in a tight white blouse, navy tie, gray skirt, and white kneesocks.

"Do you like it? It's my school uniform. I can still wear it," she beamed, spinning around so I could see her from all sides. The skirt flew upward, revealing naughty flashes of her flimsy underpants. For some reason those brief glimpses aroused me violently, even though a moment earlier I just seen her walking with nothing but her panties.

Sarah stopped spinning and approached me, her eyes greedy and nervous. She licked her lips delicately for a second, and then spoke: "Let me see your bottom."

Cautiously I lifted my skirt and turned away from Sarah. I held my breath as I felt her approach, felt her hands at my waist. Slowly my knickers were pulled downward, the smooth cotton rolling downward over the tender welts that striped my bum. Sarah did so slowly it hurt. I winced, wishing she'd hurry, but a part of me wished the amazing tension and excitement I felt to never end.

Sarah gasped loudly. "Oh my!" I felt a finger touch one of the welts. Her voice was ghostly it was so faint. "Is that from a . . . cane?"

"Yes," I breathed deeply. My body was tingling all over with fantastic excitement. I ached for Sarah to touch me more intimately. She was so close I could feel her breath on my bottom, soft and warm and light, scarcely more than a tickle. I gave a slight shudder.

"I haven't seen cane marks since school," she whispered. "And that was only once."

"You were caned?" I asked.

Sarah gasped again, this time in horror. "Of course not. No proper girl was ever caned at St. Agnes. It was Luann Tyler, a very _improper_ girl. She was always in trouble and finally was caught with a boy after lights out. They were half-dressed and rather pissed -- a half bottle of scotch was found with them. The boy's school was contacted and he was sentenced to a stiff birching from the headmaster. Tyler was simply going to be expelled, but she begged and pleaded to be given the cane instead. She promised to never misbehave again. I remember thinking she was insane, begging for the cane, but her parents were prudish and the scandal would have killed them.

"It had been nearly ten years since they'd used the cane at St. Agnes, but they brought it out for Tyler. So one Saturday morning she was given a dozen strokes. She wept for hours, and all us girls took turns visiting her, ostensibly for comfort and sympathy, but really we just wanted to see her marks."

Sarah touched my bottom again, running her fingers lightly over my weals, fascinated by the thickened, swollen flesh. Shivers of tension raced through my body and I shuddered. This young girl's naivety of such things aroused powerful memories in me, things I hadn't thought of in years.

"I remember being terrified of the cane after that," Sarah continued. "All of us were. Especially when we saw the change in Tyler. Before she had been outspoken and rebellious, but after her caning she was quiet, polite, and never late with an assignment. She got nearly perfect marks on all her schoolwork and she never did anything the slightest bit against the rules. None of us ever tempted her, either. We'd seen the results of her caning and we knew she had good reason to stay out of trouble."

"So you've never been caned," I said in the silence that followed Sarah's tale. Her answer was a soft and gentle, "No."

"Perhaps we can repair that omission," I said, pulling my knickers up firmly and letting my skirt drop. I faced Sarah, her face pale and frightened but excited.

"You don't mean -- "

"Why not? Aren't you a naughty girl who deserves a beating?"

Sarah flushed deeply and she stared down at the floor in horror. She shook her head. "I-I can't. I just can't."

"Turn around and bend over," I ordered.

There was a long silence. Sarah didn't move. She didn't even breathe. I didn't either, calmly waiting for her decision. Suddenly she turned away and bent over, her face flooded with guilt and shame.

Admiring the slender girlish figure in front of me, I carefully placed a hand on Sarah's curved back. I could feel her trembling. With my right hand I gently squeezed the soft mounds of her bum.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed.

"Quiet, naughty girl!" I scolded, and proceeded to lift up the short skirt. Sarah's full bottom beamed at me, the generous cheeks exceeding the capacity of tiny pale blue panties.

"Are these regulation knickers?" I asked. There was no response. "Answer me, child!" I gave Sarah a very light pat on the bum.

"Oh!" She shuddered. "N-no, ma'am, t-they are not."

"Then you shall be punished extra for that!" I gave her backside another slap.

"Oh God!" murmured the girl. "Not too hard, please."

"Of course it shall be hard. A spanking is meant to hurt."

With those words I proceeded to warm Sarah's bottom with my hand. It was a mild spanking, more noise than sting, but Sarah cried out in agony and shrieked at every smack. Her buttocks were barely pink when I finally paused long enough to slip her panties down to her knees.

"Oh God, not bare!" she moaned.

"Spankings are always on the bare bottom. You know that."

"Please, I've had enough. My bottom is stinging!"

"We haven't even begun," I scolded. "After I spank you with my hand I shall give you a dose of the slipper!"

That remark caused a tremendous cry to emerge from Sarah's lips and she convulsed as if in terrible pain. I looked and saw she was crying, large wet tears dripping down her face.

"Let me give you something to cry about," I said boldly, giving her bottom a solid swat. She squealed in terror and quivered as I spanked her for real now, bringing a delicious pinkness to her plump cheeks. Her arms flailed wildly, vainly attempting to block my blows, and she tried again and again to stand up, moaning that she'd had enough. I kept my left hand on her back and held her down. She sobbed and I spanked on, oblivious to her cries. My body raged with desire and I delighted in watching Sarah's bottom quiver and tremble and bounce with every spank.

When I stopped Sarah quickly stood, her hands rushing frantically to grasp her steaming bottom. She moaned and shook tears from her face. "That really hurt!" she gasped at me. "Did you have to do it so hard?"

I could barely restrain a smile. "That's nothing but a warmup. Wait until you've tasted the slipper, and eventually the cane!"

"Oh, I can't bear anything more today," she shuddered. "Let's go down and eat. I'm starved."

My face fell, but Sarah was already removing her clothes. I watched as she dressed, wincing and complaining all the while. "You've beaten me black and blue," she said, one hand behind her back, rubbing her rear. "I won't be able to sit for a week!"

"Your bottom's barely pink," I said, shaking my head in amazement at her silly antics. "I got worse spankings when I was six years old!"

Sarah's bright eyes glittered at me. "I doubt that," she sneered, a cold haughtiness coming over her pretty features.

"It's true."

Her lips narrowed. "Perhaps you ought to be getting home. Didn't you say you had to study or something? We can have dinner some other time."

Five short minutes later found me outside the Beecher mansion, waiting for a taxi to run me home. I shivered in the cool night air and wondered what the hell had happened.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 49
Tables Are Turned

(***, F/m, m/f, Intense, Spanking)

Erin sees a spanking and takes action. (Approximately 1,916 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The incident with Sarah Beecher weighed heavy on my mind for a month after our visit. She stopped coming to the store, and twice I tried ringing her up, but her butler said she wasn't home. She never returned my calls. It was a difficult lesson for me but, like most, a good one. I resolved to be more careful about my associations in the future.

That said, I promptly forgot that lesson.

It was late spring and everyone was enjoying the anticipation of summer. I took to frequent walks in a little park near my apartment. It was delightful to watch children playing and giggling without any thought of tomorrow. I wished I could be that carefree again.

One Friday afternoon, during a bit of free time, as I sat on a bench in park reading, I noticed a darling little girl playing nearby. She was alone, though I saw a man nearby, smoking and occasionally glancing at her. Apparently he was her guardian.

The girl was an angel, with beautiful curly black hair and a sunny smile. She must have been five or six years old. She was climbing up and down on a bench opposite me, walking across it in a teetering fashion, giggling and have a delightful time. For her the bench was as much fun as a jungle gym or a carousel. I smiled at her and she waved at me as she played.

Twice I saw the man scowling in my direction. He was a young man, really just a boy I realized, and he seemed somewhat annoyed by the little girl's actions. Suddenly the girl slipped off the back of the bench, where she had been climbing, and fell. I leapt to my feet in concern but the girl was fine, giggling and climbing back up immediately.

The boy, however, was not amused. He raced over to the girl and began to scold her. "You could have hurt yourself!" he shouted. "Naughty Emma. Bad Emma! Does Emma need a good spanking to learn to behave?"

A shiver went through me when I heard those words. To my delight the boy sat on the bench and pulled the girl across his lap. Her little skirt when up and her white panties came down. The boy began to spank the girl's petite bottom very hard.

I sat on my bench and buried my face in my book lest someone see how intrigued I was by this event. The boy was spanking the girl very hard, especially for one so young, and her cries were noisy and abundant. She kicked her legs furiously and struggled to escape, but the boy held her tightly. I began to grow concerned. After twenty or thirty spanks the girl was sobbing uncontrollably, wailing and pleading, but the boy continued to spank her with a furious rage that I suspected had nothing to do with any sin the little Emma had committed.

After I'd counted another twenty spanks, I'd had enough. This was beyond discipline. I stood and approached the couple.

Seeing me, the boy paused, his hand resting on the girl's red bottom. She slumped over and wailed as though she was dying. I saw that the boy was really a boy -- perhaps fifteen years old.

"Excuse me," I said to the boy, "but don't you think she's had enough?"

"She's my sister and she's been a brat," he answered gruffly. "I can spank her all I want. Mum said so."

"That's all well and good, but it seems to me she's been well-punished."

"Mind your own affairs," snapped the boy, rudely, lifting his palm and giving his sister another loud slap.

"Look at her. How old is she? Five? She can't be more than six."

"She's six and she's a terrible brat."

"I thought she was darling."

"Shows how much you know." The boy began to spank his sister again, reviving her wild cries and kicking legs.

"Now look here, that's enough!" I grabbed the boy's hand in mid-slap, gripping it tightly. He stared at me in astonishment. "Don't you remember what it was like to be spanked?" I asked. "Remember how all you could think about was wanting it to stop, the horrible burning, the stinging, and how you'd never do anything bad ever again?"

The boy's face had fallen slightly, and his cheeks flushed. He looked away. I let go of his hand. Grudgingly he tugged up little Emma's panties and smoothed down her skirt. He lifted her to her feet and set her on the ground. "Go play," he hissed. "And stay out of trouble!"

Still crying, the little girl raced away. I saw now why she played so far from her brother. She stayed within eyesight, however. No doubt that was another lesson she'd learned the hard way.

"That was cruel," I said to the boy.

He shrugged. "Aw, she's used to it."

"That doesn't change anything. She didn't deserve that."

"What difference does it make?"

I grabbed his hand again, pushing my face close to his. "Perhaps I ought to show you what it's like to be spanked for no reason."

Panic settled on the boy's face, quickly erased by a mocking sneer. "You wouldn't dare," he said, glancing around the park. There were others around, but they were at least fifty to seventy-five meters away.

"Just watch," I said. I grabbed the boy's ear for leverage and sat down next to him, tugging him across my lap. He was small for his age. I guess he made up for it with attitude.

I placed my hand on his little rear and waited while he quieted down. He was nervous now, and embarrassed, wondering if I would really do what I threatened.

"You want me to spank you?" I asked.

"Please..." he hissed, but he didn't finish the sentence.

"I'll take that as a yes." I gave his jeans a heavy swat. While his face went crimson, I figured it had to have hurt my hand more than his butt. I quickly secured him over my lap with my left hand and unsnapped his jeans with my right.

"W-what are you d-doing?"

"What should have been done a long time ago," I said firmly. "I'm taking down your pants and giving you a good, hard, spanking!"

I thought for sure the boy would fight me at those words, and I had tensed and prepared myself for violence, but instead he went very still. The jeans slid down without incident, and with that encouragement, I pulled down his underwear, too.

"Oh!" gasped the boy. "Oh, please!"

"At least you are polite," I murmured, placing my hand on the slender cheeks of the boy's rear.

"Oh God!"

"And religious, too. I should begin praying for your bottom, if I was you. It is going to be roasting soon."

And with those words I began the longest, hardest hand-spanking I'd ever given. My hand swelled up and I couldn't hold a pencil for two days afterward. It really hurt but I didn't care. I wanted to teach this arrogant boy a lesson.

I spanked him for a least twenty minutes, maybe longer. There were a few pauses for breath and scolding, but generally it was nothing but hard slap after hard slap on that boy's butt. At first he seemed to stunned to believe it was happening. He lay quietly and took it, whimpering occasionally, and flushing horribly whenever people approached.

After a while it began to actually hurt and he started to wiggle and kick and yell. Soon he was begging me to stop, then ordering me, then collapsing into sobs and moaning for mercy. I gave him no quarter but spanked on and on and on. His struggles grew weaker and weaker and finally he just lay there and cried like a baby. It was astonishing to watch.

About halfway through the spanking I noticed a wide-eyed Emma watching us from behind a nearby bush. She stood with one hand on her own tender bottom, a mesmerized expression on her face. The boy saw her and groaned loudly, shouting at her to go away, to stop looking at him, to call the police. The girl didn't move. He threatened her with a terrible spanking if she didn't obey, but she didn't move.

I laughed gaily. "See there? She knows who's in charge. I'm in charge, little boy, and you're getting the spanking you so richly deserve. No be quiet and be still, or I'll have your little sister fetch me a switch off that tree and we'll thrash the skin off your arse!"

This seemed to terrify the boy. He promptly began begging for mercy, promising he'd be good. I ignored his pleas and told him to shut up. He quieted then, but when I began working on the backs and insides of his thighs, his cries could be heard throughout the park.

"Noisy, aren't you," I said pleasantly, my hand going up and down like a piston. "I guess you want everyone in the area to know you are getting spanked like a little boy."

The boy squeezed his eyes and mouth shut with a deep groan, and finished the last five minutes of his spanking without a cry. When I stopped he didn't even try to move, but lay across my lap, exhausted and beaten. I caressed the back of his neck and told him it was all done, he could get up, but he didn't move.

For at least five more minutes we sat like that, the boy over my lap, wiggling slightly and moaning quietly. Little Emma was still watching with huge eyes. I waved at her and she smiled shyly and waved back.

The boy shifted suddenly, and I felt something hard pressing against my thigh. I paid no attention to it at first. After all, a squirming boy is bound to have some rough edges. But soon the sharpness grew more intense, more uncomfortable. I shifted my legs and the boy leaned forward, pressing against me.

A chill passed through me. The boy's jeans and underwear had fallen down below his knees. He was a horny teenager, was he not?

As if to answer my question, I felt another thrust from the boy. He was rubbing his stiff cock against the inside of my thigh!

"Bad boy!" I scolded, delivering a sharp slap to his blistered bottom.

The boy only groaned and pushed harder against me. I spanked him again and again, but it only served to make him wiggle harder. Finally I rolled him off my lap onto his feet. He half-stood awkwardly in front of me, his painful, twisted face, red from crying, focused on the crotch of my skirt where it had risen considerably during his gyrations. I saw with horror my panties were easily visible to him. As I moved to straighten my skirt I saw the boy held his penis in his hands, the bulb thick and purplish and oozing. My glance was all the boy needed. He spurted into my lap gleefully, blissful relief on his face as he collapsed in a trembling heap.

I leap to my feet, furious. "How dare you!" I shouted. "How dare you! I ought to fetch a cane and thrash you!"

The boy lay on the grass panting, his face one huge smile of contentment.

"Please," he whispered. "Oh, please...."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 50
A Slave of My Own

(****, F/m, Severe, Caning)

Erin continues the game. (Approximately 947 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

A week later I caned the boy.

It seemed only fair. I had no delusions about his motivations, and the last thing I wanted was to encourage him, but I figured the caning would do him some good. Boys his age need regular canings. It seemed his father had left the family several years earlier, and while the boy's mother thought him eminently responsible and the "man of the family," the truth was that he exploited her trust and abused his power every chance he got.

I gave him six of the best that first session, and then masturbated him with my hand until he came. I had him totally naked, which thrilled him, while I remained fully dressed, which did not. But I had no sexual interest in the boy. He was an amusement, that was all. I felt I was educating him.

He came regularly after that. He was completely malable. I had him do my chores around the apartment, scrubbing the toilet and floors, washing dishes, and doing the laundry. That last I only did once, after I caught him masturbating with a pair of my panties. I immediately gave him six for that, with no release, but he was such a miserable boy I relented and twice put him over my lap for some slippering and much needed friction. Before he went home I gave him the caning he'd come for (literally), and then I smeared his sticky come over the weals on his bottom.

The boy adored me. He found my body fascinating, though I never let him see me naked. He said I was a goddess. I was flattered by his attentions, but I refused to have sex with him. "You are here for punishment," I reminded him. "That's all."

"Yes," he breathed. "Punishment."

He was incorrigable. I slippered, paddled, strapped, and caned him, yet he still came back. Each time I promised him that the next time would be worse, and each time he returned.

The pain was dreadful, and I gave him a number of positively unforgetable canings, but apparently the relief at the end was worth every tear.

One night he crawled to me while I sat on the sofa. He was naked, the way he always was in my apartment. "Suck me off," he said boldly. "Suck me with your mouth."

"You are disgusting," I said. "I shall cane you extra for that."

"Give me double," he whispered. "But suck me off."

I stared at him. I'd already given him two slipperings and a paddling, and he knew he had a strapping coming before his good-bye caning. It was tempting to me to see how far I could push him.

"Fifty with the strap," I said softly, "followed by two dozen with the cane. I shall fondle you twice during the strapping and lick you once during the caning. You may pick when."

The boy's eyes grew lustful and dangerously excited. "And then you'll suck me off?"

I nodded.

The boy grinned at me. "I want you naked while you beat me."

"I told you, no sex," I said sternly. The boy shook his head.

"No sex, just you naked. I want to see you naked while you punish me."

A warmth inside me grew as I thought of the boy staring at me. His lust was so raw and obvious it aroused me violently. It would be interesting for me to be naked. He'd never seen me naked, though I'd once traded him six strokes of the cane for him to see me in my bra and panties.

I nodded.

The boy bowed low. "I'm ready for my strapping, mistress."

I kept my part of the bargain, stopping twice during the strapping to revive the boy's limp member, and once during the caning. Throughout the long beatings I was naked, my body glistening with sweat as I worked hard to induce terrible pain into the boy. I knew he enjoyed watching me, seeing my breasts sway as I swung the strap and watching my bottom jiggle as I walked away to get a good run with the cane. Feeling his eyes lust after me was fascinating and arousing. But midway during the caning, as I licked his cock back to life, I realized my own bottom was tingling with dreadful anticipation. I longed to be receiving the thrashing myself, not beating a helpless boy.

After sucking the boy off I left him lying on my bed for a half hour, his body exhausted. When he finally emerged, still naked, his backside a maze of weals and thick welts, I told him to assume to position.

"We still have your normal six," I said firmly.

His cock visibly grew as I spoke. His eyes, blood-red with tears, went wide with terror.

"I-I can't take any more," he moaned, dropping to his knees. "Please."

"You will take it, love," I whispered, kissing him on the forehead. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because tonight is the last time. You won't be coming back."

"But why? I thought -- "

I cut him off with my fingers on his lips. "Shhh. You thought nothing. None of this ever happened. You are a boy, you have your life and I have mine. In a few moments I will give you six strokes and you will leave. You will not come back. Is that understood?"

Something in my expression melted the boy and he nodded. Slowly he bent over and grasped his ankles. "Make them memorable," he hissed, his voice rough with emotion.

I did.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 51
Domingo

(****, M/F, Severe, Caning)

Erin meets a painter. (Approximately 3,853 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"You have a beautiful body," said the hoarse, accent-filled voice.

I looked up from my tea and _Principles of Language_ textbook to see a bizarre man staring at me. He was petite, maybe 5"3", with dark skin and stringy black hair. His nose was thick and crooked, his teeth sharp and pointed, and his eyes were black dots that burned fiercely. He could be mistaken for nothing other than Hispanic. Oddly, he was perched on the chair across from me on his hands and knees.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"I said, you have beautiful breasts," the man said.

I glanced around the cafe. It was early afternoon and few people were around. "Who are you?"

"I want to paint you."

"What?"

"I want to paint your lovely body, those delicate breasts, those impertinent lips, those hot/cold eyes."

"Who the bloody hell are you!"

The man's eyebrows went up and he looked at me, flabbergasted. "You do not recognize Domingo?"

"No. Who is he?"

"Why, he's the famous Cuban painter. He specializes in the portraits of beautiful woman."

My wry smile couldn't be hidden. "And these women, they have clothes on?"

"Of course not. Everyone knows that the true _artiste_ does not paint clothing. It is the body which is beautiful. Like yours. You have modeled before, surely."

"I have not."

"Oh, but it is a marvelous thing. Imagine, yourself on a stage, naked, like the day you were born, except, obviously, ha ha, more mature. You can feel the cool air all over your body. And while you sit quietly, Domingo, he paints. He paints and he paints. He paints all night long. And in the morning, you have a beautiful, exquisite portrait."

During this speech the little man kept hopping about on the chair, fidgeting as though he couldn't bear to remain still for more than an eyeblink. It flustered me.

"If you are such a good _artiste_," I challenged, "then you should be able to paint me nude while I am still dressed."

"Or vice versa," he murmured, winking boldly. "Ah, but it is so much more interesting, ha ha, for both the model and for the artist. You do not wish it to be boring, do you? For you, it is exciting, doing this thing. It is naughty, it is _forbidden_. Ah, yes. I see in your eyes. The little shiver goes through your body when I say those things. You are a good girl, very proper. You never think of taking your clothes off for a strange man. That is good. That is what I want. Come back to my studio, right now. We do this quick, before you change your mind."

My mouth was dry, my heart throbbing so loudly it frightened me. Without thinking I took the man's stretched-out hand and found myself walking up the street with him. The whole way I stared crazily at everyone we passed, blushing pink and wondering if it was as obvious to them as it was to me how naughty I was about to be. Could they see I was walking with a strange man I'd just met, heading for his place where I would disrobe so he could make me a permanent part of history? I shuddered and tried to concentrate on performing simple things like breathing and walking.

Suddenly we were there. It was a small attic apartment in a dingy gray industrial building. Domingo, still calmly holding my hand, led me inside. He was chatting as we walked. I realized with surprise that he'd been talking since we left the cafe, but I hadn't heard a word he said.

"Then she left me, too," he was saying as he mounted the narrow, awkward stairs. I was in front of him, and twice when I hesitated he pushed encouragingly on my bum. "They all leave me eventually," he said. "You know Candy Morgan? Well, she modeled for me for four months. Yes, that's right. For four months. Then that London rag called and she was off to strip for a _photographer_. Not an _artiste_ but a bloody photographer!"

Domingo spat loudly. We'd reached a petite landing and he was pulling a large set of keys from his pocket. They jangled loudly as he fished to find the correct one. The first two he picked didn't work and he cursed and muttered until finally one opened the door.

"Why do you have so many keys?"

He shrugged. "It's a habit. I pick up all any keys I find. I have them all here."

I stared at him, bewildered, as he pushed passed me and into the room. The room was huge, much bigger than I would have thought, and seeing it sent delightful thrills of astonishment through me. It was like a child's playroom. Everywhere there was color and light and fascinating gadgets and toys.

To my left was a large skylight, propped open with a stick of wood. Fresh sweet air blew in and fluttered papers everywhere. Beneath the skylight was an open area, deserted except for a small white sofa. Behind this was a mammoth cloth drape hanging from the ceiling. It was shaped in a half-circle around the chair, which I suddenly realized was actually a small wooden stage perhaps a foot and a half off the floor.

Beyond the stage, and surrounding everything, were paintings. The walls themselves were bizarre murals. I saw a gorgeous starscape filled with giant spaceships shaped like naked women. Another one consisted of dark, frightening colors of no discernable pattern. The one next to it was bright and friendly and the contrast was startling. Along one wall was a mural of a home's interior -- wallpaper, bookcase, table and chairs -- that incorporated a real window so seemlessly into the picture that for a moment I thought the window was painted and marveled at the realistic white puffy clouds. It was the bird flirting passed that gave it away.

There was a gory mural back in one corner, a grim figure holding the severed head of a giant woman by her long blond hair, and while initially repulsed, there were two things about it that intrigued me. One was the amazing use of blood-red paint. It dripped from the jagged neck so realistically it was eerie, and more startling, the blood flooded down the wall and oozed out across the floor. It gleamed so freshly I felt if I stepped in it my feet would come away red. Most unusual, however, was the face of the severed head. The woman was beautiful, breathtakingly so, yet she was cheerful and laughing, a bold twinkle in her eyes, the left one half-closed in a perky wink. She seemed so delighted by her decapitated state that I found the painting mesmerizing.

Somehow I tore my eyes away and took in the rest of the fantastic room. Everywhere were paints and colors and half-finished or discarded paintings. Bizarre mobiles of wood and paper and bits of wire dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly in the breeze. The floor was littered with careless splashes of paint and crumbled sketches and broken pieces of pottery and twisted bits of metal. I was afraid to walk lest I damage something, but the room gave me such a sense of intoxicating freedom I couldn't help but wander, my eyes drinking greedily everything I could. Many things were hidden behind large canvases and wooden screens. I could spend a week in here and not see everything. There was much too much -- I couldn't begin to describe everything I saw. The room was a living work of art. There was something eclectic about its contents. It reminded me of a little boy's pockets -- when asked to empty them the most bizarre, unrelated, and potentially useless items are presented, all with the gleaming delight of a child.

Domingo stood beaming at me, his face shining, his head darting about the room with short, jerky movements like a sparrow. "You like it?" he cried eagerly, clapping and rubbing his hands. "Here, I am at home. This is my place. I am comfortable among my friends." As he said this he gently caressed and kissed a large portrait of a nude woman on all fours, a half-dozen heavy breasts dangling from her midriff. A part of me was initially offended by this sexually exaggerated picture, but then I noticed a dozen tiny naked men dancing below the women, huge purple cocks erect and pulsing. They were reaching upward eagerly for the woman's dangling nipples which were just out of reach. When I approached the painting, I saw an amazing amount of detail in the men's faces -- faces of utter despair and agony as their lust was left unsatisfied.

"Incredible," I said, shaking my head.

"Of course," he said. "It is a Domingo." He pointed proudly to the stylized "D" tattooed on the woman's thigh. (This was something of Domingo I especially liked -- his signature was never added as an afterthought, but was always incorporated as part of the art.)

"You have real talent. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in London or Paris or New York?"

"Bah!" Domingo cried, spitting onto the floor. "I am *Domingo*. Why should I paint like other artists, live like others? I like it here. Here I can be alone, be anonymous, be still. Here I have my lovely models, so innocent and wonderous."

His hand reached out to touch my cheek and I hesitated, but he simply shifted my face to study my profile at a different angle.

"Ah, beautiful," he said. "It makes my heart ache."

"They have models in London," I said, trying to distract him. When he looked at me that way something caught in my throat and I felt a burning all over my skin.

"Ah, no. They have _bodies_ in London. Women who know how to pose, they are useless to me. I must have virgins, innocent girls who know nothing. You, you can be yourself. That is what I want. A model, a professional model, she cannot. She is a figment of her own imagination."

"You aren't Cuban, are you," I said suddenly.

Domingo laughed. "Of course not. But I look it, no? It is good, this act. Domingo, the Cuban painter. Yes, it is good. It doubles the value of my work."

"How much do these go for," I murmured, wandering and admiring.

"It depends. That one, by your hand, I have recently sold to a collector in New York. He paid me 18,000 pounds. But I like it so much I am reluctant to send it to him."

I stared at Domingo in astonishment. "Eighteen thousand! But that's amazing. You must be bloody wealthy."

"What, I don't look like I'm a millionaire?" He grinned. "I own only what you see in this room. Everything else, it is invested. My agent, he buys paintings for me. They are stored in museums, galleries, all over the world. I shall never sell them. One day I will bring them all together as my collection. It shall be one of the best in the world."

"Would your painting of me be in a museum?" I asked thoughtfully.

"Perhaps. If it is half as good as I envision it will be, I don't doubt it."

A thrill ran through me. Imagine, me, being admired and, well, lusted after, by thousands, no millions, of people. I turned and looked at the stage expectantly. "Is that--"

"Yes. You may get undressed now."

"You mean, here? Isn't there, uh, a changing room or something."

Domingo laughed, a bold, free laugh of delight. "Of course not. That is a foolish thing. I see many painters use silly screens to protect the 'modesty' of their models. And people say I am crazy." He bent his head and looked at me sharply with the tops of his eyes. "You have no modesty, I can tell."

Once again a shiver passed through me. I licked my lips and wondered what I was getting in to. Perhaps I should run away. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly three o'clock. I had a class in a few minutes. Missing it would earn me stiff punishment from Heidi. My bottom tingled. It knew before I did that the temptation of naughtiness had already won.

I began to remove my shoes.

"Wait!" commanded Domingo. "I must be ready. Go onto the stage. I must watch you undress."

Stepping onto the little stage, I waited while Domingo gathered his paints and a fresh canvas. He rummaged like a madman, darting about and pulling up a brush here, a piece of cloth there, a stand here. Finally ready, he nodded to me. "Go ahead," he said.

Nervously, I kicked off my shoes. Then, turning away from him, I pulled my thick sweater over my head. I wore no bra and was naked underneath. As my hair settled back in place I glanced shyly back over my shoulder at Domingo. My eyes went wide. He was naked, his wiry, dark body perched impatiently on the edge of a wooden stool. In one hand he held a charcoal pencil, ready to sketch me. In the other was his cock, limp but slowly rising. I stared at him in disbelief.

"Go on," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. For some reason I obeyed, tossing aside my sweater.

My jeans slid to the floor, my white cotton knickers and knee socks my only adornment.

"Lovely," said Domingo. "Keep the socks. Lose the shorts. But _slowly_."

Turning half away from him, I began to lower my panties. It was one of the most erotic moments of my life. I could see Domingo openly masturbating to my tease and it thrilled me. His lack of shame confused me utterly. My own face was hot with guilt and as I wiggled out of my panties, my bare bum cheeks facing the crazy painter, I felt a surge of incredible power pass through me. I was flushed and my body seemed on fire. My nipples were so erect and stiff they ached. My bottom longed for the sweet caress of a stinging cane. It had been two days since my last strapping, and nearly a week since Heidi and Steve had thrashed me. The sticky crotch of my panties was damp and I had to work to get it free from my body. I knew Domingo would not fail to notice such a detail and blushed furiously.

Boldly turning to face him, I let my panties drop to my ankles. I stood for a few seconds, open and exposed. He was excited, his face flushed and his cock huge, especially on such a little man. His hand pumped wildly, eagerly, and he gripped the pencil so tightly his fingers went white.

Then I carefully stepped out of my panties, catching them with the toe of my right foot, and I flicked them at Domingo. He was watching, entranced. He released his cock for a few seconds to catch the gift, promptly wrapping his cock around the moistened center and spewing mightily.

Amused and horrified, I stretched myself out on the small sofa. It was soft and comfortable and I wondered how many naked women had lain across it. I felt a sense of comraderie with them, those strangers I'd never even met or seen. We were together in this. I was part of them. We were all bad girls who deserved to be soundly spanked and sent to bed without supper.

"How do you want me," I whispered.

"I want you," answered Domingo, "anyway you want to be wanted. Just relax and be yourself."

He was now drawing as furiously as he had been pumping on his cock a few seconds earlier.

Sighing, I rolled around on the couch trying to find a comfortable position. My favorite, naturally, was lying on my belly, propped up my elbows, my breasts shyly hidden by my arms, but my bum naked and vulnerable. I bent my legs at the knees and kicked a little, loving the gyrations of my bottom this action caused.

"Beautiful," breathed Domingo. "That's it! Don't move an inch!"

Forty-five long minutes later my body ached. My neck hurt, my elbows throbbed, and legs were tired. I shifted slightly, but Domingo snapped at me. "Don't move!"

My sex, initially wet and horny, was now desert dry. Even my nipples were no longer pert. This was boring, exhausting, work. Domingo was a dynamo, scratching away at his canvas non-stop, nearly frantic in his violent energy.

"I'm tired, Domingo," I said. "Can't I get up, just for a few minutes?"

"No!" he shouted. "It will ruin the mood. Now shut up and be still."

I frowned, grumpily, and swore at him. "It's not bloody fair," I mumbled. "You said this would be sexy."

"Shut up, you fucking bitch!" growled the artist. He said this in such a casual, off-hand way it nearly felt like it wasn't directed at me. He was concentrating on his work, ignoring me entirely. I was not even there.

An hour slowly passed, then another. Every fidget drew a scolding from Domingo, every wiggle a harsh reprimand. I was growing angry and annoyed, and very tired of the whole mess. Domingo still worked tirelessly, mixing paints and whirling away behind his large canvas. He hummed and clicked his tongue as he worked.

"I'm thirsty," I moaned. "We've been at this forever."

"Be quiet."

"I need to go to the bathroom, too. If you don't let me I shall go on this couch."

"Shut up!" Domingo screamed, furious. "I cannot concentrate if you babble so."

I snapped my mouth shut, glaring at him. I wanted to slap him, the little arrogant bastard. How dare he talk to me that way! Instead I relaxed and tried to look sullen.

"Your face -- you have changed your expression again. You cannot do that. It changes everything. The body relects the face, you know. If the face is sad the body is sad. Your body is sad."

"That's because I'm fucking pissed off!" I roared, deliberately turning my head away from him.

"That's it!" cried Domingo. "If you will not behave I shall thrash you until you do!"

I turned back, my heart thumping crazily in my chest. Domingo reached up and snatched a white cane off a hook on the cement column behind him. The end of the cane was painted red, like blood. At least I thought it was paint. My belly flipflopped. My sex steamed and came back to life with a vengeance.

Lying naked on a sofa facing a man with a cane should have made me less stupid, but I can never resist taunting a man with a cane.

"Perhaps I shan't behave until you do," I retorted, regretting it the instant I said it.

Lust gleaming in his eyes, Domingo approached. The cane was high, very high, and he gripped it with two hands. It whistled down. There was a terrific CRACK! and I felt pressure against my backside.

Suddenly it flooded through me: pure, raw pain. It was fire, burning agony across the sensitive summits of my buttocks. I closed my eyes as the sharp tears stung them and sighed deeply, wiggling to let the pain seep down to my crotch.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! came the cane. The force was astonishing, terrifying. I gasped and gritted my teeth. Moisture leaked from my eyes. Between my legs my sex was going crazy, spurting and drying up and then growing hotter than ever.

"Will you be still?" asked Domingo.

"Never," I answered, and suffered the inevitable result.

As the painful red haze faded, the room still echoing with the cracks, I heard him repeat the question. "Not much," I mumbled.

More pain. Followed by more pain, this across the backs of my legs. He was striping me good, this one. "Please!" I howled. "I need to pee!"

My answer was another sharp cut to the top of my arse, the intense bite overwhelming me. I lost all control then, whimpering and releasing urine onto the sofa. Domingo watched me silently, the hot liquid coursing down my thighs. I wet in shame and embarrassment. He laughed.

"I shall punish you for that," he whispered softly, leaning close to my face. "But now, we shall continue your painting, no?"

His lips brushed mine briefly and then he kissed my forehead. I moaned, wincing as I wiggled. "Please," I gasped, my sex aching with desire.

"When I am done," he whispered, his eyes telling me he understood exactly what I wanted. "When I am done, if you are a good girl."

Oh, I'd be a good girl, a very good girl. I wouldn't move a muscle! I lay quietly while he painted, humming and clicking and occassionally stepping from behind the canvas to masturbate, his eyes drinking me in as his hand fondled his thick cock. I wanted that cock. I wanted it more than anything I'd ever wanted in my life. I wanted in my mouth, in my pussy, in my butt. I didn't care where, as long as it was inside, thick, heavy, and hard, painfully hard. I ached and longed and lusted, and finally, with a burst of white semen, Domingo sighed. He wiped off his cock with my discarded panties and told me to get up. "It is finished."

Stiffly, I rose. My body hurt all over. I eyed Domingo's still slippery cock as I approached him. My buttocks throbbed as I walked. He had thrashed me well, but I felt a sharp quiver of desire thinking of his promise to punish me further for peeing on his sofa.

Then I saw the painting. It was magnificent. It was me, no question of that, but a much more beautiful version of me than I see in the mirror. Domingo had enhanced me, captured an elusive expression of wonder and fear on my face, and a pose of extreme comfort combined with lustful eroticism. I was a naughty virgin, naked, with one hand between my legs, my face bursting with secrets. Most astonishing of all, however, were the bloody stripes across my arse. My hand went to my backside, feeling the thick welts, and I imagined I must look much like painting. The weals looked so lifelike it was almost as if they throbbed while you looked at them. Perhaps I was confusing my own feelings with what I saw on the canvas, but I was deeply moved.

"My God, Domingo, you can't seriously expect to sell this!"

"Why not?"

"It's -- it's indecent," I said. "You've got me fucking myself after I've obviously been beaten!"

"Yes," said Domingo, licking his lips impassionately. "I think this will sell for much more than eighteen thousand pounds."

"You're a monster."

"Of course."

"A greedy bastard."

"A _lustful_ bastard," he corrected gently. "Now, don't you think it's time I fucked you properly?"

"Why not?" I answered. "You've already screwed me once."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 52
More is Better

(****, M/F, Intense, Whipping)

Erin gets painted again. (Approximately 714 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"You're fucking shitting me!"

Domingo grinned a smirky smile. "It's true. Fifty thousand pounds. The buyer loved it. He's an American, a very wealthy collector."

"Fifty thousand!" I cried, shaking my head.

"This is for you." Domingo slid a check to me across the table. I stared at the amount. "Five thousand?"

"Ten percent is standard," he said. "Unless there's a sitting fee paid up front. I'd prefer the percentage, myself."

"But I didn't expect to get paid."

"You deserve it. I could never have done it without you."

"I still can't believe I did it," I said, shaking my head. The thought of a distant American growing horny at my erotic painting was both amusing and frightening.

"There's more," said Domingo.

"More?"

"Yes, more. He wants more. The client said he'll pay the same for more in the series."

My breath caught. "A series?"

"Yes. I have several ideas, if you are game."

My mouth was dry and I couldn't breathe very well.

"Have you ever been chained to a whipping post?"

* * * * *

Friday night was a full moon. At midnight, the trapdoor flung up to receive the moonrays, I stood on the stage bathed in the pale, eerie glow. I was naked, my wrists wrapped together with a strip of leather and pulled over my head. They were attached to a ring at the top of a thick wooden post and I dangled helplessly. The rough wood felt intoxicating against my aching nipples. My legs were wrapped around the pole as I humped it awkwardly, too lustful and excited to even care that people would see me this way.

Once every hour, Domingo would halt his work and take up a cat-o-nine tails and whip me. He whipped with the same vigor and passion with which he painted and made love. Only when my back, my buttocks, and my legs were well-striped and hot would he allow me to return to humping the pole, which I did eagerly and with great frustration. My only relief was the whippings, which I relished and cherished, loving the way he beat me so cruelly and without any hope of reprieve.

The finished painting was a dangerously erotic marvel. The post was set against a rolling landscape nearly black in a night setting. The moon shown down on me like a spooky spotlight, illuminating my naked body with a midnight glow.

Again Domingo had taken some license, painting me with delightfully large breasts that bulged against the coarse post. Thin lines of cruel whip marks decorated my breasts, back, buttocks, and legs. The whip lay curled up at my feet, a long single-strand bullwhip, wickedly heavy, with blotches of red blood at various points. A number of the cuts on my back and artfully curved voluptuous buttocks oozed dark blood. It was a chilling scene, counterbalanced by the delicate look of forbidden orgasm plastered on my guilty face.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, my voice weak with pain and lust. Domingo stood before the painting, his thick cock dripping eagerly. A faint smile crept onto his face. Without speaking, he pointed at the painting.

I gasped.

A glint of steel glistened between my legs. I stared in disbelief at the razor-sharp edge of a blade protruding from the wooden post scant inches beneath the jutting globes of my buttocks. Even worse, the blade gleamed with dampness, as though splashed from above. I shuddered, slipping a hand down to my sex almost as if to protect myself. I saw that my reflection in the painting was on tiptoe, straining to keep above that fearful knife.

"You're evil," I whispered.

"Of course."

"A terrible sadist."

"Yes."

"Fuck me now!"

And right there, on the hard wooden floor, amidst the wet paint and discarded canvases and old paintbrushes, we rolled and made fantastic, unbelievable love. Every touch sent agonizing shivers through me as the hot lashes covering my body revived, but I didn't care for nothing but the massive hard post thrusting inside me.

An hour later, panting and bodies dripping sweat, Domingo's limp and exhausted cock in my mouth, I sighed deeply.

"Domingo," I hissed, careful not to bite him, "we've _got_ to paint another one."


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 53
A Model of Jealousy

(****, F/F, Edgy, Bondage, whipping)

Heidi meets Domingo. (Approximately 2,567 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The apartment was dark when I entered, and I naturally assumed Heidi was asleep or at Steve's. As I flipped on the main light, however, I found myself face to face with a grim American girl seated on the sofa, a long rattan cane across her lap.

"Why, Heidi!" I cried, my voice wavering slightly with nervousness at her expression. "Have you been waiting for me?"

"It is past two in the morning," she growled. "You were supposed to be here at six for your thrashing."

Blood coursed through my cheeks. "Oh! I-I forgot."

"Your 'forgot' to show up for your thrashing?" Heidi's eyes flashed such fire I felt an impulse to fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

"Domingo and I -- "

"Domingo!" snapped Heidi, bringing the cane swishing through the air to land with terrible snap on a cushion. "It's always Domingo! Domingo this, Domingo that, Domingo the genius. I am sick of hearing about him!"

Despite my precarious position, I couldn't help but smile. "My God, Heidi, are you jealous?"

"I am not jealous!" Again the cane smacked the cushion, leaving a profound dent in it. "Now get over here for your thrashing. I shall make it double, no, _triple_, what I had intended!"

My knees buckled slightly. "But Heidi -- "

"Now!" The cane pointed to the center of the room.

I cringed. "You don't understand -- "

"One more word and you can just turn around and go out that door and never come back."

The words literally knocked me to the ground. I staggered, falling to my knees, moaning. _She couldn't mean it!_ I thought desperately. _She can't mean it!_

But Heidi's face was grim and hard, with a coldness I had never seen before. She was dreadfully hurt. With an ache in my belly I realized I had scarcely seen in her in the past couple months since meeting Domingo. He was so unlike anyone I'd ever known. When I was around him I forgot about everything and everyone else. It was terrible. I began to cry.

Crawling on the floor, I began to slip off my clothes. It was painful and awkward and shameful, but I didn't care. I deserved it, for hurting such a dear friend. I had no doubt she was going to whip me harder than I'd ever been whipped before, but that didn't frighten me as much as the thought of losing her. Without Heidi I'd be lost, a matchbox floating in an ocean storm. I needed her.

Naked, I crawled to her feet, kissing them. I pressed my head low, arching my buttocks up, and waited for the horrible pain.

Nothing happened.

Slowly I raised my head.

Heidi was crying. Tears pour down her cheeks, but she made no sound. The cane was in her hand, but she seemed to have forgotten she held it.

"You poor dear," she whispered suddenly, kneeling and kissing my shoulder. Her cool lips touched the whip marks across my back and moved downward in little babysteps, kissing and moistening the welts with her tongue. She kissed my buttocks and my thighs, weeping salty tears over my wounds. I, too, wept uncontrollably.

"He did this to you," she whispered finally, her hands touching my blistered skin.

I nodded, shuddering. "It was a bullwhip. I didn't think I could take it, but he went slow. We started this afternoon and finished a couple hours ago. The painting will take your breath away."

Heidi shook her head sadly, tracing a particularly sensitive welt across my upper back. "Why, dear Erin, why? This one, it will scar. Oh, you poor dear."

I shuddered, huge sobs choking me. "I'm sorry," I moaned. "I don't know why. He makes me _feel_ so much. You must come and meet him, Heidi. You must."

Heidi's face was cold again, and she shook her head. "No. This man sees too much beauty in pain."

"But so do I!"

"Yes, I know," she whispered, drawing near and kissing my lips.

But I was still afraid. "You won't make me leave, will you?" I begged. "Please tell me you won't. You can cane me all you want."

Heidi's red lips curled into a welcome smile. "Of course not. I-I shouldn't have said that. I was angry. And no, I shall not cane you. Not in your condition."

Despite my pleas and apologies, Heidi put me to bed immediately, and though she soothed my wounds with aloe vera, she did not stay in bed with me.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, but in the morning when I awoke she was gone.

A week passed. My marks from the bullwhipping healed, though a couple of the more severe weals did leave faint scars. I would stand before the mirror in the bathroom and admire them, tracing them with my finger as best I could.

Heidi spoke to me rarely, and though I occasionally tried to encourage her to punish me, she did not. She wasn't cross with me -- at least she didn't appear to be. She was polite and kind, though a little distant and withdrawn. Nothing I said bridged the gap. We did not speak of Domingo, for that seemed to enhance the gulf between us. I found myself drawn more to him, seeking out his passionate love-making and dark conversations.

One evening, approximately three weeks from the bullwhipping, I asked Heidi a question. We were alone, quietly reading. I glanced up from my book. "Have you ever been tied up?"

Heidi stared at me. "What?"

"You heard me."

The girl blushed slightly and looked away. "Why do you ask?"

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "Yes. I had a boyfriend in Texas that used to enjoy that. His favorite was binding me spread-eagle on a bed."

I licked my lips. "Did you like it?"

"With him, not really. I think I wanted to trust him more than I actually did. With some men I can see how it could be pleasant."

I hesitated. "Domingo's going to tie me up tomorrow."

"Oh. Really?" Heidi crinkled her brow at her textbook as though concentrating hard. She was doing her best to act unconcerned, but I could tell she was tense.

"Yes. He's going to bind me into some horribly humiliating position and leave me there for hours while he paints me."

"Goody for you," mumbled Heidi, tossing her book aside. She headed for the kitchen. "Want some water?"

"No thanks," I said. "Anyway, I thought maybe you'd like to come to the studio tomorrow afternoon. I told him you might come."

I heard the refrigerator door close. Heidi came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of water. "I'm going to bed. Good-night," she said bluntly, and vanished down the hall.

I stared at my book and blinked back tears.

My excitement at the new adventure of bondage was dampened by Heidi's refusal to come, but I was committed. Domingo greeted me enthusiastically, the wicked grin on his face making me nervous.

"What have you got in mind?"

"Come," he said, rubbing his hands. "There!"

The petite stage had been transformed. A complex arrangement of pulleys, elastics, ropes, and leather bindings dangled from the wooden beams of the slanted ceiling. Despite my fear I discovered excitement building inside me.

"How does it work?" I asked breathlessly.

A half hour later I was inside the contraption, and in excrutiating pain. Actually, it wasn't that painful; it just seemed that way.

For the first time in a Domingo painting, I was dressed, at least according to Domingo's standards. I wore a black leather collar with shiny metal studs and knee-high black leather boots with sharp heels. Around my wrists were leather bracelets, padded on the inside to protect my skin, and connected together behind my back with a small silver chain. A harness made of strips of coarse canvas went around my chest, leaving my breasts woefully exposed.

I was suspended from the ceiling by an elastic cord attached to the harness in the middle of my back. This meant I could bounce up and down and sway. But don't think this was to give me any sense of liberty -- it was a taunt, nothing else. A thirty-inch wooden bar attached to the insides of my knees kept my legs well spread. My ankles were roped to pulleys high above me. This kept me facedown at a somewhat horizontal position, my wrists fastened together behind my back. These ropes were devilish. In truth there was only one rope -- it traveled from one ankle to the other via an elaborate trail across my body and across several pulleys. Everytime I shifted my legs the rope dragged across my various body parts, delivering a bizarre mix of pleasure and pain.

My breasts were squeezed in a wooden vise. The nipples, huge and extended, were pinched by small metal clamps with rings on the end. The rope passed through these rings on its trip around my body. An inverted clamp (the kind that springs open, not closed) spread my pussy lips open, allowing the coarse rope to settle right across the slit. The rope continued between my legs going right up the crack of my arse. Here it found another ring to slip through, this one firmly attached to a rubber plug inserted into my anus. Passing this, the rope wound through rings at my wrists before heading for the ceiling pulley and going to my left ankle.

In short, I was capable of limited movement, but at a price: every wiggle, tug, or jerk caused the rope to pull my nipples and rub across my delicate pussy. For a few minutes the position wasn't too bad. But soon it became irritating, and then intolerable, and I was forced to shift my weight, adjusting my knees and legs. After several hours, I was aching and pleading with Domingo to release me, at least for a few minutes. He ignored me at first, but finally threatened to gag me. I was quiet for a time, but then began again. Finally Domingo did gag me, placing a strip of leather around my head and over my mouth. Nothing I said dissuaded him.

I heard the footsteps long before Domingo. He was engrossed in his work. A gunshot could have been fired directly behind him and he wouldn't have turned. I heard the steps but could not see who it was. Someone had climbed the stairs, opened the door, and walked inside. I couldn't imagine who it could have been -- but I knew it wasn't good. But I was helpless. I moaned but Domingo ignored me. For at least an hour the person stood there in the shadows behind Domingo, watching, and there was nothing I could do to warn him.

My body throbbing, I began to wiggle. The rope tugged all over my body. My breasts hurt so bad I couldn't believe they'd ever return to their native shape. Domingo said something, and then I heard her voice.

"So this is your slut, Domingo?"

A terrible chill passed through me. It was Heidi.

She stepped forward. Domingo was astonished to see her. Heidi ignored him and walked over to me. She picked up the leather cat-o'-nine tails Domingo had left on the floor and swung it through the air.

"What are you doing?" cried Domingo.

"I'm going to thrash your slut," said Heidi calmly. "She does need it, doesn't she? Such a naughty slut!"

I moaned, loudly, but did not avoid the slap of the whip. It snapped across my haunches, burning cruelly. I cried out in pain but it sounded like a feeble grunt from beneath the gag. I wiggled, too, and that hurt more than the cat -- the rope tugged at my breasts and pussy and asshole.

Heidi whipped me then, a long, hard, thorough whipping. At first Domingo just watched, entranced, but then he became excited and returned to his painting, his brush whirling almost as fast as Heidi's whip.

Three things made this whipping distinct. One, I was utterly helpless. I couldn't even cry out. Second, Heidi didn't just whip my buttocks and legs -- she whipped me from below, letting the tails lash across the front of my thighs, my sex, my belly, even my squeezed and tortured breasts. I recognized the strokes were mild, but the pain was so unusual it was shocking. I screamed into my gag and writhed in agony, which only increased my pain. Domingo watched my struggles with amusement, a large grin splitting his intense face as he painted.

"You are Heidi, Erin's roommate?" Domingo asked suddenly.

Heidi paused in mid-stroke. "Yes."

"Good. Strip. I want you naked. Whip her while you are naked. I will put you in the painting."

Domingo said this with such a matter-of-factness that I doubt Heidi even stopped to question his command. She stripped. Naked, she approached me, caressing my hair and kissing me on the cheek. I trembled, knowing her kiss to be the beginning of the end.

The whipping resumed in full force, and though it hurt to move, I moved my head so I could keep an eye on Heidi, despite my pain, enjoying the sight of her slim legs and bare snatch, and her naked breasts bobbing as she thrashed me. Domingo hummed loudly, contentedly, and painted.

I don't know how long the painting took. After Heidi arrived I lost all sense of perspective. It could have been an hour, perhaps six. I know I wasn't fully conscious until morning, when I became aware of intense pleasure and pain. The pain was in my ass and I realized it was Domingo thrusting his huge cock into my asshole. The pleasure came from sweet Heidi, kissing my lips and licking my breasts. I was free from the evil rope contraption, lying on Domingo's bed.

With a loud grunt Domingo ejaculated inside me, his shuddering sending me over the edge. I was so sensitive that everything, no matter how slight, struck me as impossibly sensual. I felt Heidi draw away from me, and I rolled away, the silky smoothness of the bedsheets sheer delight. Behind me I could hear Heidi and Domingo making love.

Moaning, I rotated my head. At the foot of the bed, where I lay, was the painting. It was magnificent. Heidi was naked, her bare buttocks stripped with fresh marks of a caning. I didn't know if the marks were real or Domingo's imagination -- I hoped the former. She looked beautiful, her voluptuous body gleaming with sweat and lust. In her right hand dangled the deadly cat-o'-nine tails, and before her was me, naked and trussed up like some child's toy. My body was striped with whip marks, my face engorged with agony and severe pleasure. Again Domingo had exaggerated my breasts, and the detail of the nipples and clamps that squeezed them was amazing.

After staring at the painting for a long time, my hand deep inside myself, I came with a deep sigh. I glanced back and saw my two friends were lost in slumber. They looked peaceful together, as though they'd made love a thousand times before. No one would have guessed from seeing them that they'd only met a few hours ago. I thought they would make a good painting.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 54
Artist and Lovers

(***, M/FF, Edgy, Bondage, whipping, caning)

Heidi and Erin pose for paintings. (Approximately 604 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Over the next two months, Domingo painted four more paintings of Heidi and I. In one, Heidi was bound to a large wooden X and I was the one with the whip. In another, both of us were in stocks, naked, our bodies marked with pain. Every half hour or so Domingo would pause in his painting to flog or torment us. Often the whipping was preferable to his teasing, which consisted of feathers tickling our bare pussies until we were screaming.

Domingo's best painting was one of Heidi and I making love. For the first time I was hesitant to have myself painted. It was strange. I had no problems being portrayed naked, bound and whipped, but a permanent image of me making love to another of the same sex bothered me. I considered myself a hetrosexual -- Heidi and I made love simply because it was natural and convenient. Neither of us assumed more into the role than was actually there. We were both actively searching for a male counterpart, in fact. But the painting seemed to put more emphasis on our relationship than was real.

Still, I finally agreed. Heidi and I showed up at Domingo late one Friday night. We were smashed and could hardly stop laughing. Domingo promptly caned us both, eight strokes each, which quickly brought us back to reality. Then it was time.

Domingo had laid out a pile of thick furs on the stage. Heidi and I promptly threw ourselves into these, delighting in the silky smoothness. Running the furs across our naked bodies was ecstasy. I especially enjoyed rubbing a fur across the weals of my tender backside, and, eventually, sliding it lower, between my legs across my pussy.

The games Heidi and I played that night -- oh, it was terrible. We took turns spanking each other, we pinched breasts, bottoms, and pussy lips. We licked and fondled. We pissed on each other, a horrible, shameful experience that somehow seemed appropriate at the time. I suppose it was the forbiddenness of it that excited me.

Everything climaxed, both literally and figuratively, with Heidi and I in classic 69 position, licking frantically, our faces damp with each other's moisture. That was how Domingo captured us -- me on top, my striped arse toward the viewer, looking back over my shoulder at Heidi beneath me, my chin dripping with juices. Both of our expressions were fantastic mysteries -- incredible blends of lust, guilt, delight, and wonder.

Once he had us in the that position Domingo ordered us to stay, which we did, and every few minutes he allowed us to satisfy each other for a few scant seconds. Then it was more waiting, holding our breath until we could feel each other again. Strangely, this torture, while I'm sure it lasted for hours, seemed to pass in mere seconds. Suddenly Domingo was with us, spraying us with white semen, and groaning with relief. As after every painting, he was exhausted, and it took considerable work on our part to revive him, but we did it.

Later, when we all three of us were sated, Domingo showed us the painting. Heidi and I couldn't believe it. We'd never seen anything so poignant, so beautiful, so astonishingly raw and open. We each wanted to take Domingo again immediately, but Heidi won the coin toss and I had to wait. I amused myself by spanking and scolding Heidi while she made love to Domingo, knowing full well that she'd pay me back during my turn.

It was a grand night.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 55
A Realization

(***, M/FF, Edgy, Beating, whipping, enemas, hot wax)

Heidi and Erin pose for a last painting. (Approximately 1,289 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

For his fifth painting of us, Domingo wanted something extremely extreme. Heidi and I obeyed him implicitly, without question, but we were both frightened and nervous. Domingo was becoming more and more vicious. His beating were ferocious, sometimes drawing blood. He seemed to revile in the harsher instruments: the birch, the bullwhip, the four foot rattan. Heidi, especially, seemed overwhelmed by his intensity. She deserted Steve, devoting her time exclusively to Domingo. Strangely, I wasn't jealous at all -- I supposed I'd never thought of Domingo as my boyfriend.

Both of us nearly dropped out of school. We ignored our studies completely, concentrating on pleasing Domingo. We lived in his attic for days at a time. We were his slaves. We were naked all the time, submitting to frequent punishments and obeying his every instruction, no matter how painful or unusual.

He once had me pose as a water fountain, running a small hose along the back of my leg, up my back, and out the side of my mouth. The icy water splash down my naked front, while I had to remain completely still while he painted me.

Often, either Heidi or myself would be bound hand and foot and dangled from the ceiling all day long. We'd have to piss and shit from there, our droppings falling to the floor and making a terrible mess that, of course, we'd be required to clean.

There was much pleasure, too: nights with Domingo were never boring, and even during the days he'd often grab Heidi or myself and fuck us where we stood or knelt. Several times he took me while I was posing, admonishing me to remain still or he'd beat me.

He also enjoyed watching Heidi and I make love. His favorite was whipping us with the bullwhip or cat while we rolled around on the stage or bed. This was dangerous, for the head of one was always near the crotch of the other, and that was too close to where the whip landed. It frightened Heidi and I, but I suppose that fear only enhanced the intensity of our pleasure.

Weeks passed thus, with Domingo taking more and more control over the two of us. When he announced the plans for his fifth painting, both of us were overwhelmed. He gave us few details, but we knew the event promised to be severe when he promised us no beatings for a week so we could be well healed for Saturday's project.

As the day drew near, Heidi and I were bundles of nerves. Every command, every snap of his fingers, would freeze the blood in our veins. We shivered and knelt before Domingo, begging him for love and mercy. He only laughed, promising that Saturday we'd be punished more thoroughly than ever before in our lives.

That day he began things early with long icy showers for both of us, followed by double enemas with extra soap. Then he made us shave either other's pussies so we looked like little girls. He timed how long we took and paddled us each one smack for every second it had taken. Only after the spanking were we allowed to release the enemas.

After another shower and an ice enema, he tied us together in the 69 position where we remained for over an hour. We were bound so tightly we couldn't even move our heads, though I could smell Heidi's crotch which was right in my face. I couldn't satisfy her any more than she could me, however, and the tempting position only tormented us.

After lunch, which we prepared for him, he gave us each a terrific twelve-stroke caning with his heaviest cane. He did the whole naughty schoolgirl-headmaster routine and we had to play along -- when Heidi broke out of her role to swear violently after a vicious blow he gave her four extra strokes.

The afternoon was a blur of beatings, bondage, and pain. I remember being bound to a number of contraptions, each more frightening than the previous. My nipples were clamped and unclamped so many times I imagined they'd been pinched off. I always had something in arsehole or pussy -- a dildo, plug, hand, or cock. Then, as evening began, Domingo brought out the candles.

I'd never played with hot wax before, and Domingo quickly showed me why I had not. First he strapped us down onto a large table which he'd covered with sandpaper, rough side up. We were face down in different directions, so I couldn't even wink at Heidi for comfort. When we were secure, he whipped our bottoms and legs until they were scarlet. When I felt him prying open my buttcheeks I wanted to scream, but somehow I did not. He thrust the candle deep inside me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him do the same to Heidi. Then he lit the candles. At first nothing happened, then I felt a hot splash across my thigh. That made me cry and jerk, which splashed more hot wax across my skin. The half hour it took for that candle to burn down was the longest of my life.

But that candle was only the beginning. Heidi and I spent the evening in various positions with candles of increasing thickness in different places. Trembling candles in our mouths dribbled wax across our tender breasts, which Domingo had thoughtfully whipped earlier. Domingo used a paintbrush to paint hot wax on us in various unusual places, such as between our toes, behind our knees, under our arms, and in the crack of our bums. The wax quickly cooled and hardened in the night air and it would grip and squeeze the skin in a rather relentless manner. There was no relief.

The actual painting wasn't begun until well after dark. Heidi and I were folded in half and hung from the ceiling by our hands and feet. Our faces peered out between our legs, our split pussies and rumps just below. Domingo used a small strip of leather to lash our sexes until we were both screaming, and then he plunked huge candles into our slits. Hanging, helpless, and terrified to move, we watched as he settled down to paint his masterpiece. Every few minutes one of us would cry helplessly as some wax dribbled down the candle and onto our flesh. We'd struggle to remain calm and still. The first shock of pain is the worst -- once you survive that, you are fine.

At midnight Domingo blew out the scant remains of the candles and removed them. He cleaned the wax off our arses and pussies, whipped us again, and refilled us, lighting the fresh candles and resuming his painting. The brief respite only made our positions worse, and as the night turned into morning, both Heidi and I were ready to explode from lack of urination.

I don't remember much after that. I remember seeing the completed painting in the morning, and while it was as brilliant as Domingo's work always is, I felt an emptiness inside me. I didn't say anything to Heidi, but when we finally stumbled home that afternoon, she turned to me and whispered, "I shall miss him."

It was then I realized that I'd never see Domingo again.

I don't know how we all knew something so clearly and yet none of us had said anything. Looking back, I think I had known all along it was to be our last painting together.

Heidi and I never returned to his place, and Domingo never even called. A month later, a check arrived in the mail. There was no note.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 56
Back to School

(***, M/F, Severe, Caning, strapping)

Erin goes back to school and makes up for lost time. (Approximately 817 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

Swish-CRACK!

The sound was as familiar as the sharp pain that assaulted my backside. I wasn't surprised by it, but that didn't made it hurt any less. I gritted my teeth and held on for the last three strokes.

"You may rise."

I released my grip of the desk and slowly rose, my skirt tumbling down to cover my stinging rear. Blinking back the tears, I tugged my knickers back up over my buttocks and thanked the professor for his generosity.

"Don't thank me yet," he growled grimly. "You have seven more lessons to make up. I shall expect your essay on Friday morning at eight, and don't be late!"

I groaned as I hurried down the hall. It was barely noon and I'd already endured two canings. And today I still had to meet my maths and World Literature professors.

I gripped a week's worth of maths make-up assignments and rapped on the door of Professor Angler. It was his lunch hour and was eating a sandwich as I entered.

"Put it on the desk," he said, indicating my homework. "Then to the corner with you. I believe you are familiar with the position."

Unfortunately his words were accurate. In the corner I pulled down my knickers and lifted up my skirt, holding it up with both hands behind my back. My scarlet bottom, already well-striped, was on display for Professor Angler. He ignored me, however, studying my assignments as he finished his lunch.

Finally he stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a heavy leather strap. The end was split into two tails.

"Your work is improving, Erin," he said as he approached me. "Obviously you can perform well when motivated appropriately."

I nodded, shuddering. I wanted him to just get it over with, but Angler's a man obsessed with detail and not easily rushed. He toyed with me, studying the stripes on my rear for a time, and playfully flicking the tawse at my trembling bum.

"Are you ready for your punishment? Eh?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"It's going to be a good one today, girl. A real good one. You have months of neglect to make up for."

I nodded frantically, wishing he'd hurry.

"Your bottom looks a little sore," he murmured. Then he brightened. "I shall be merciful. Only a dozen on your bottom today. Isn't that generous of me?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"All right. Let's begin."

The strap began to lick at my backside. Every stroke was hard and the twin tails spread to fully cover my cheeks. The pain was staggering. It lacked the focus of the cane but more than made up for it in coverage. My entire arse seemed to burn with an angry rash. I yelped quietly at each stroke and tears dripped down my cheeks. But I knew the worse was yet to come.

When the dozen strokes had been administered, Mr Angler had me turn and stretch out my left leg, placing my foot on a chair. Then he proceeded to lash my inner thigh a half-dozen times. Every stroke had be weeping for mercy and jerking violently. It was vicious, this whipping. Not that harsh but incredibly painful. All I could think about, other than the blinding pain, was that this was only my left leg. I still had the right to go!

Fortunately for my bum, my next meeting wasn't until evening, when I had to meet one of my English professors for a dozen of the cane. It was World Literature, my worst subject, and Mr Lindsey was not impressed with my oral report. For my mistakes he added four strokes to my punishment, and when he graded my essay, he added seven more for spelling errors, and two for bad punctuation. He used his junior cane, and mostly across the backs of my thighs, but still I found it difficult to remain in position for the beating.

The atmosphere of these punishments was far different from the loving, sexual discipline of my beloved Heidi, or the erotically-charged whippings from Domingo. They were so formal and cold and relentless I found they dominated me in ways I had forgotten were possible. They made me feel as helpless as a guilty child. The actual pain was probably less than I'd experienced under Domingo or even Heidi, but the attitude was so opposite that the pain overwhelmed me, and I often broke down and wept like a baby.

Despite my despair at so many beatings, I was grateful to my teachers for allowing me to make up my neglected work. I'd missed so much during my time with Domingo that for a while it had looked like I could not graduate. Now it looked like I would, but at a price.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 57
A Sad Farewell

(****, F/F, Severe, Caning)

Heidi says good-bye. (Approximately 1,035 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

With graduation looming, there was something ominous about the future. I was so preoccupied with my catch-up studies I couldn't place what troubled me. I just knew that I wasn't looking forward to school ending.

One Saturday, after an eternal day of tedious study and reading, I went out for a long walk in the moonlight. I was troubled and nearly overwhelmed at the pace of my life and just needed some time to think and relax. When I returned home it was nearly midnight. Heidi was asleep so I entered quietly and headed for my room, not bothering to turn on any lights.

A sound from the living room made me pause. Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a figure sitting on the sofa. It was Heidi. I realized with amusement that she was naked.

"What's going on?" I whispered, wondering why I was whispering.

Then I saw the cane. It was Heidi's longest, a tough four-foot ratan, and it was lying across her lap. I gulped. I'd had two Friday beatings and didn't exactly relish one tonight. It had been weeks since she'd beaten me, however, so I supposed I deserved it for something. Trying not to think about it, I quickly stripped, tossing my clothing across a chair and approaching my girlfriend.

Heidi grinned at me, a rather mournful smile. The curtains were drawn and in the pale moonlight I was astonished at how beautiful she was. I knelt at her feet and caressed her gorgeous legs. She was strangely silent.

Time passed. I was suddenly blinded by a brilliant glow. I blinked frantically and shielded my eyes. Heidi had turned on the table lamp next to her. She picked up a piece of paper from the table and handed it to me.

I scanned it quickly, confused. The message struck me like a dagger threw the heart. It was a letter from America. Her father had made arrangements for a job interview with a prominent New York firm. The letter hinted that the interview was really just a formality -- with his connections, the job was pretty much hers if she wanted it.

"Y-you're going to take it?" I asked. My voice was cold and dead, for I knew the answer before I asked the question.

"It's what I've always wanted. You know that."

"What about your doctorate?" I mumbled, searching desperately for any excuse. I felt numb and bewildered, betrayed and angry. This wasn't fair!

Heidi shrugged. "I don't need it." She paused, then took my face in her hands. "To be honest, I stayed the extra year to be here with you."

Tears stung my eyes. My throat ached terribly. "Oh, Heidi!"

"Shhhh," she whispered. "Everything is going to be fine. You graduate next week and we'll go our separate ways. It had to happen sooner or later."

I knew she was correct, but it didn't make the truth any easier to accept. I began to cry, hot, angry tears. I felt like a petulant child, angry at the rain. Heidi gripped me tightly and I wept in her arms for a long time. She cried, too, for I could feel her tears dripping down my back.

Finally I pulled away. "Cane me," I cried, turning and finding the discarded rod. "Cane me harder than ever before!"

Heidi laughed, that delightful careless sound sending shivers down my spine. "Oh, I plan to," she nodded. "A real good-bye thrashing. But not tonight. You're too sore from your professors' canings. We'll wait until Friday, the evening before graduation. I leave for London on the nine o'clock train. We'll do it before I go. Then all during the graduation ceremony you can be feeling my stripes."

Rebellion flooded my soul at those words of departure and I struck out at her, moaning in anger and despair. She caught my hands and embraced me tightly. I wept. It wasn't fair. I wanted her to hurt me. If she hurt I could hate her for leaving. Her next words made me freeze.

"I want you to cane me," she said simply.

"What?"

"You heard me. Tonight it is my turn. I doubt I shall have many opportunities to be caned in America."

Heidi was playing with dynamite, challenging me like that. My anger flared and in moments Heidi was in position, bent over the arm of the sofa, her pretty arse, so smooth and silky and pale, waiting the red-hot strokes of the discipline rod.

I gave her the slowest, hardest caning I'd ever delivered. Twenty-four of the ultimate. Every blow left brutal crimson tramlines across her plump cheeks. Every stroke sent spasms of agony shuddering through her body. She gasped and howled and moaned, eventually sobbing without control. I took my time, spending several minutes after each stroke fondling Heidi's beautiful body, caressing her smooth hips and kissing her back and shoulders and the sides of her dangling breasts. Occasionally I pushed the end of the cane between her legs, poking it inside her twat and bumhole, or simply teasing her with its presence.

It was hours before I finished and we made wild love on the sofa and floor. Both of us had orgasmed several times during the caning and when it was done we were nearly out of our minds with pent-up passion.

I awoke early the next morning and found myself stretched out on the living room carpet, Heidi in my arms. Her arse was a red and purple mess. I touched it and she woke up immediately, moaning softly. She saw me and kissed me, a long, passionate kiss, and then she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

I lay very still, my mind whirling. Everything in my life was about to change. My lover and best friend was leaving, my future after graduation was unknown. I'd have to find a job, move to a new place, settle down. Perhaps I'd get married, have children, live a normal life.

I hugged Heidi to me tightly, her rhythmic breathing calming me slightly. There was something about a normal life that terrified me.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 58
Graduation

(****, M/F, Severe, Caning)

Erin meets a headmaster. (Approximately 1,917 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My graduation caning from Heidi was extremely special. She wasn't angry like I had been when I whipped her. She was loving, far too loving, and every cruel stroke was designed to remind me of that fact.

The next day I went through the graduation ceremony in a daze. My parents were there, waving and proud as peacocks, but all I could think about was a beautiful American girl on a lonely airplane, heading for New York. Nothing else seemed real to me.

Things happened quickly after that. My graduation had been so tentative I'd made no plans like the other graduates, who all had jobs awaiting them, so I returned home with my parents. It was strange being in my old room again, being part of a family. It wasn't bad, but I realized with surprise that it felt inappropriate. I was an adult now, ready to move away and be on my own. I resolved to find something quickly.

My opportunity came scarcely a week later. I heard from a contact at the university of a small country school that was desperate for an English teacher. Though I felt woefully inadequate, I had my degree that said I was qualified to teach, and I applied immediately. A week later I found I had been accepted, sight unseen. The school was in a remote location and the position paid very little (no doubt both had been factors in the difficulty of filling the position), but I didn't care. I had money saved from Domingo's paintings -- something I'd kept from my parents -- and I didn't need much. I just wanted to get away, to be on my own, to forget Heidi, school, everything. The concept of starting over fresh, in an anonymous new place appealed to me. The quiet countryside was a delight to my soul. I'd grown weary of the rush and bustle of the big city.

I arrived in town on a Friday and spent the night in a hotel. Saturday I found a small apartment and moved in. Then I visited the school, meeting with the Assistant Headmistress, who took me on a tour of facilities. Indeed it was a small school, with only a few hundred students, but I didn't mind. The school had a summer program of about fifty students, which was why I was required immediately. My teaching duties were to begin on Monday. Fortunately, the previous teacher, Miss Wesley, a sudden stroke victim, had kept meticulous notes and lesson plans. I spent the afternoon going through her work. By the time I'd finished browsing I felt much more confident. At least I had a good starting point; I could fake my way through the rest of it.

Mrs. Dodley, the Assistant Head, popped in about four o'clock. "Oh, good, you're still here," she cried. "The Head would like to see you before you leave. His office is near the main entrance."

"I remember," I nodded. "I be there in a few minutes."

The woman smiled and left, wishing me a good weekend and hoping I would be quickly settled.

I sat and stared at the classroom after she was gone. It felt bizarre to think of it as _my_ classroom, that I was in charge. I didn't feel very different from the little schoolgirl that used to get her bum whacked in a schoolroom just like this one.

With a sigh I picked up my things and straightened my desk. I would take some of this work home with me so I could study it tomorrow and be ready for Monday. The summer program was already two weeks behind schedule because of Miss Wesley's untimely departure. I hurried to meet the Headmaster.

His office was just off the main entrance. Though the school was deserted, I felt a bizarre tremor pass through me as I knocked on the large wooden door. It felt too much like I was a naughty child, sent to the Head for punishment.

The door opened and there stood a young man in formal attire. I blinked in astonishment.

"H-headmaster Morgan?"

"Ah, you must be Erin O'Grady, the new English teacher. Peggy said you'd be stopping by. Please, come in."

I followed him, my head spinning. He was much younger than I had expected, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He was also extremely handsome, with dark hair and intelligent blue eyes.

"Are you getting settled okay? You have found a place to stay?"

"Uh, oh, yes, sir."

He laughed. "Call me Ron. No need to be so formal. There are no students here."

"Yes, sir," I said quickly. Hot embarrassment flooded my cheeks. "I-I mean -- "

He laughed again, a friendly, non-threatening sound. "I take you aren't used to talking with headmasters as peers?"

I shook my head miserably. I hesitated, looking around the room. "Last time I was in a room like this it was for six-of-the-best across my bare bum," I whispered, my hand retreating to rub my backside nostalgically.

The man's bright eyes narrowed suddenly. "They used the cane at your school?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. So many schools have gone so modern.... Here at Leevey's we encourage proper discipline. I take it you'd have no problem applying the cane or the slipper to your students?"

My mouth must have gone ajar at that thought, because it had never occurred to me that I, as a teacher, would be allowed to wield the cane. "Uh, I suppose not."

He laughed. "I understand your hesitation. It's hard to know when you've only had experience from the other side. Don't worry. Just be firm and act confident and you'll hold your own."

We spoke for a while, then. The headmaster telling me about various school policies and questioning me on my education, my family, etc. I answered him as best I could, but in truth I had trouble concentrating. Every time he moved I had the wild impression he was rising to fetch a long cane with which to thrash me. Once, when he went to a cabinet for what turned out to be some employment forms for me to fill out, I actually cried out in protest and started to rise from my chair!

"What's the matter?" he asked, turning with the forms in hand.

"Oh, I, uh, nothing," I mumbled, reseating myself. "I'm just nervous, I guess."

"Nothing to be nervous about," he grinned at me. "I know how your first teaching position can feel overwhemling -- I came here straight out of school, just like you. I've been here fourteen years now. Seven years ago I was promoted to Assistant Head, and four years ago I took over from McCauley when he retired. I had business experience, you see. I teach maths when I'm not doing Head stuff."

I grinned shyly at his coy phrasings. "I was always terrible at maths," I muttered. "I suppose that's why I went into English."

We chatted pleasantly a bit more, and then, without any warning at all, Mr Morgan suddenly stood and said, "Well, shall we get your caning out of the way?"

I stared at him, flabbergasted. "You can't be serious!"

He appeared surprised. "Is something the matter?"

"But- but you can't!"

"My dear, all employees have to fill out these forms. It's the law."

Dully reality penetrated my head. "W-what?"

His hand waved the papers. "These forms. We must fill them out."

"Oh, of course."

"Are you certain you're okay?" He put down the papers and approached me, peering at my face. "You seem quite pale."

"No, I'm fine," I said hastily. "I just thought you said -- "

"Thought I said what?"

I shook my head and fell silent. I expected Mr Morgan to move on, but he didn't, waiting patiently for me to answer. As the silence grew, I knew I'd have to explain or he'd think me a total fool, if he didn't anyway.

"I thought -- ", I began, staring at the carpet as I spoke. "I thought you said you were going to cane me."

I waited for the laughter, but there was none. Slowly I looked up. The headmaster was studying me. His eyes were sharp and penetrating and I felt like he could see right through me. He knelt in front of me, his face gentle and kind.

"It's what you want, isn't it, Erin," he whispered. "You came into this room expecting a caning and I haven't given you one."

"No, that's not it at all," I wanted to say, but my mouth was dry. Instead I nodded softly.

Without a word the man turned and headed for a small closet and retrieved a long, slender cane. "Shall we?"

I moved to the desk and assumed the position. I could hardly breath. I didn't understand what was happening or why I was so overwhelmed, but the concept of getting the cane from Mr Morgan took away all my ability to think clearly. "He's going to cane me," I kept thinking. "I'm about to be caned by my new boss."

His hands lifted my skirt and folded it onto my back, tucking it into the waistband to hold it. I could not breathe.

"Knickers down?"

"Yes, sir," I hissed, the intensity of my voice shocking me.

Strong masculine hands tugged at my underwear and in seconds the tiny garment was around my knees, my bottom nude and vulnerable. I could not breathe.

The first stroke was loud like a rifle shot in a small room. It flipped a switch inside me. I felt everything in me building up for a massive release. This was what I had been wanting, I realized with amazement. This was what I had been needing for a very long time.

By the third stroke the pain was flowing through my body with exquisite force, running up and down my spine and all over, wild electric impulses that had me wailing and wiggling.

I cried out on the fourth blow, a low cut across my haunches, but the massive wave of pain flooded to my front side, filling me with irrepressible desire. The fifth blow increased everything to a peak. I was ready to scream when the sixth cut arrived, sharp and cruel across the fullness of my bottom. I prayed it wouldn't be over yet -- I was so close.

Seven came, criss-crossing the other stripes, the pain agonizing and overwhemling. I trembled as my pleasure juices competed against the agony, and slowly the pleasure won. When the eighth stroke arrived I was ready -- I exploded in a deep, soulful cry and fell across the desk in a whimpering collapse, dying shudders violently shaking my body. I felt I could never move again I was so exhausted and spent. Dimly I heard Mr Morgan put away the cane, and then his hands were on my bottom, softly replacing my knickers, rubbing my bum, and pulling down my skirt.

"I think perhaps you should go now, Erin," said the Headmaster.

I nodded, gathering my things and turning to leave. I opened the door and hesitated. I turned back inside. "Sir?"

"Yes?" His face was calm and showed no sign of tremendous emotions hidden underneath.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered. "Thank you."

He smiled, a shy smile of deep pleasure. "You are welcome, Erin. I will see you on Monday."

I left quickly, then, my heart and body aching with unknown longings. But Monday wasn't far away.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 59
A Complete Circle

(***, M/F, F/m, Severe, Caning)

Erin learns how to cane. (Approximately 824 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

My first week at Leevey passed remarkably quickly. There were so many new names and faces and events that everything blurred together. I spent evenings studying and preparing lessons, and the days lecturing and trying to get students caught up. There were a few problem children, but I tried not to let them interfere with my teaching. I hesitated punishing them, for I was new and wanted them to like me, and I wasn't certain as to the school's precise policies of discipline. Sooner or later I knew I'd have to make use of the cane and slipper, but nervously I kept putting it off. I certainly couldn't be expect to cane during my first week!

I saw Mr Morgan several times, usually in the early mornings before classes began or at lunch, but though we exchanged pleasantries and smiles, we did not have a real conversation. Thus I was delighted on Friday afternoon when I received a note from him asking to me to his office during my break period. I hoped to impress the handsome headmaster with my diligence and hard work.

I knocked on his door promptly at two-fifteen and was told to enter. My greeting died in my throat when I saw that we weren't alone. A tall boy stood in one corner, his expression sullen.

"Oh. Is this a good time?"

"Of course," smiled Mr Morgan. "You remember Brad Jerrod, don't you?"

I saw that the boy was one of my students. He'd given me a hard time earlier in the week, testing my mettle so to speak, but I had ignored him, concentrating on just getting through my first week of classes. Twice I had threatened to send him to Mr Morgan, and yesterday, after several rude remarks from him, I had sent him off. I hadn't heard anything more about it, and today he hadn't shown up for class.

"I sent him to you yesterday," I told the Headmaster. "Why is he here today?"

"He's here for caning," said the man grimly. "I think you shall do the honors."

I stared at the man in surprise. He didn't say anything more but motioned toward the closet where his canes were kept. Awkwardly, I walked forward and opened the cabinet, selecting a long white cane. Mr Morgan seemed pleased with my choice.

"To the desk, lad," growled the Headmaster, and the boy grumpily left his corner and bent across the desk.

I stepped behind him. The boy wore trousers, but they would not protect him much from the cane. Surely the Head didn't expect me to cane him bare bottomed! Aparently not, for he didn't say anything as I prepared to strike.

My first blow was well-aimed but feeble, but by the third one I had the boy cringing. Getting into the rhythm, I gave him three more and paused, but Mr Morgan nodded for me to continue. Seven started the boy crying, though softly, and eight brought out a little cry of pain. Nine and ten got him sobbing, but Mr Morgan didn't let me stop until I'd administered a full dozen.

"Buck up, boy!" he told the weeping child. "That was hardly a stiff thrashing. Next time you'll get a dozen from me, and I assure you, those you will feel!"

Brad was dismissed then, and feeling a little foolish, I went to put away the cane. The Headmaster stopped me.

"Where are you going with that?"

"I was putting it away."

"But we aren't finished, are we."

It was a statement, not a question. I paused, then shook my head. The way this man could read me was uncanny. He held out his hand and I gave him the cane. Then I bent over the desk.

I was wearing a long dress. Mr Morgan had to pin it up to get it to stay, but as soon as my bottom was bared he began thrashing me with the cane. It was a good, hard caning, extremely thorough. A dozen strokes that had my eyes watering.

"Do you think you can discipline your own students from now on, Miss O'Grady?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"Good. I don't want another child sent to me for discipline unless you've exhausted all means at your disposal first. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. You may return to your class now."

I left quickly, strong in my resolve to handle punishments sternly and without hesitation. Less than a half hour later, when two of my students, Michael and Jenny, failed to turn in their assignments, I brought them to the front of the class and gave them each a dozen healthy wallops with the slipper. The class was subdued and well-behaved after that, and we made more progress than usual. I had no doubt that Michael and Jenny would be turning in their essays promptly on Monday.


Purchase this story in print form!


Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Erin's Adventures at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Erin's Adventures
Chapter 60
Home at Last

(*****, M/F, Intense, Caning)

Erin finds her destiny and her wild adventures come to an end. (Approximately 946 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

With so much happening, summer past quickly for me. Soon it was regular school, with many more students, and much more work. To my surprise I felt into it with a contentment that astonished me. Teaching was enjoyable. I delighted in explaining things to my students, seeing their eyes open wide with excitement at some new philosophical concept.

I was at home in the small village, too. I joined the local church, bought my groceries at the little market where everyone knew my name and waved at me when I approached, and began to investigate plans to purchase a small house. I felt loved and accepted by everyone in town, and the students liked me, though they knew and respected that I was a tough disciplinarian. I slippered regularly, and caned occasionally, and that was enough to keep the wildness under control.

Every few weeks I met privately with Mr Morgan -- he insisted I call him Ron -- to discuss my "progress," and he refreshed my memory as to the particulars of a good caning. Our sessions lasted longer and longer, spending much more time talking and laughing than caning. Just being with the man calmed and refreshed me, and I delighted at his stern wielding of the rod. His beatings were always thorough and strict, but he never caned me out of anger -- it was always because he saw I wanted it. How he could tell I never understood, but he always knew.

Several times he didn't even bother to cane me, but we just sat and chatted, he letting me tell him of my crazy dreams and ideas, and I listening as he told me about his family and past.

One day in the spring, as I sat grading papers on a Saturday afternoon, Ron knocked on the door to my classroom.

"It's a beautiful day," he said. "Why are you working?"

"Essays take forever to mark," I said with a shrug. "I made the mistake of promising to assign one every week, and now I'm stuck reading them every week."

He laughed, seating himself on the edge of my desk.

"You haven't been to my study in a while," he whispered, his voice suddenly deep and stern. There was no questioning his meaning.

My heart bounced about crazily in my chest. I looked away, blushing.

"I- I think I am happy," I said at last. "I think for the first time in my life, I am truly happy."

"Are you saying you don't need it?"

I shook my head. "No, not that at all. Just not as often. I think it is sweeter when I wait, build up the anticipation, the desire."

He smiled, nodding pleasantly. "All the same, I think you should come down there now."

My knees felt weak. "Now?"

"Now."

There was no way I could refuse. I stood awkwardly and followed him down the corridor. We did not speak. In his office I stripped naked while he fetched the cane. It had been over a month since my last dose, and the pain was sharper than I remembered. I struggled to keep still and obey him, but it was very hard. Every blow seemed to shatter something inside me. I wept uncontrollably from the first strike, and by the end I was lying in a puddle on his desk.

"That's good for now," he murmured after a dozen.

I remained in position while he talked to me. He spoke in vague, abstract terms of dreams and futures and desires and reality and life and death and I just lay there and sobbed, comforted only by his hand on my back, caressing me constantly, giving me strength and courage.

"There, now," he said after a long period of silence. He stroked my hair, petting me. "I think we should finish this, don't you?"

I didn't know what to say. More caning was not what I wanted at all, not then, not to spoil that delicate moment. But I nodded, too weak to resist.

He got behind me then, raising the cane high. It touched my bottom, then tapped me on the shoulder. I turned slightly, staring at him in confusion through my tears. The cane tip of the cane was pointed at my face. I tried to pull away but it followed me, insistent. Slowly I focused.

After a pause in which the universe seemed to halt, my heart flipped over and slowly died. It was too much. I grabbed the cane, slipping the tiny golden ring off the end. I knew what it was. There was no question in my mind. I looked at Ron and his smile melted away all my tears and all my fears.

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

He had known my answer long before I had. I saw that now, during all those long talks and sweet punishments he had known. I bet the rat had known from the first moment I'd walked into his office. But he'd waited for me to see it.

"What was the question?" I said impertinently.

He didn't even blink. "Will you be my wife?"

I pretended to think about it. "Will I be subject to your discipline?"

"That goes without saying."

"Then in that case, I accept!"

"Good. Now turn around. We need to finish this."

With a sigh of relief I bent over, thrusting out my bum for further punishment. For the first time in years I felt relaxed and confident. I deserved whatever he gave me, that was true. It was also true I didn't deserve him. I suppose the two together canceled each other out.

THE END!

Rate This Story: