Spanking the Secretary's Bottom

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Mildred was walking by, the strains of the spanking symphony drifted through the window turning into a cocophony of sound, hard whups! and long, long howls of pain! She nodded satisfactorily. “Good old Mummy, keeping up the standards, that’ll teach her!” That is no ordinary school-cane several had insisted, with some boys speculating it must have been treated with exotic and forbidden oils to imbue it with additional stinginess. Others took the view she had been coached by a tennis pro until her forehand swing was capable of delivering strokes of hitherto unprecedented power. After what seemed to be ages, but was probably no more than a minute or two, the door opened again and Mrs Seaton called Lindsey in. The leaving of school behind her and the journey home was sullen. The man in the bowler hat frowned at her as if he knew. The walk from the bus stop to her lovely cottage was heavy and slow. Two of Mummy’s friends saw her and nudged each other. Was that a snigger? a barely credible 144" (pun intended?) with a 12in tawse, tied to a whipping horse in front of the whole school.

Genuinely sorry to have disappointed her, Thomas had seemed eager to reassure, but before he could reply, Miss Sternwood had risen from her seat and retrieved something long and slender from a hand-sized gap that was conveniently, but quite discreetly, left open between two of her bookcases. However, I don’t want to end our journey into corporal punishment here. Our sessions are so hot, so intense, and the connection between us before, during and after the act itself is always so wonderful.Once, for carelessly discharging a clip of live ammunition, the commanding officer gave me 30 of the very best and I could not sit down for five days.

Although it was a relief to stand, the change of position hurt my bottom and I did exactly what all the girls seemed to do and put my hands onto my bottom to gently rub. He stood over her and she trembled visibly. When she didn’t answer, Mr Haughtry bent over and whispered in her ear, “Can you?”Karen remembers the day her adventure at Grammer School began. It was the day she received the letter telling her that she had passed the 11+ exam with flying colours. You have to see it like this, if you had been an upper sixth former I would have caned you for that, without doubt four ‘superior’ as it wasn't really rude." The third stroke landed lower than the first two had, whether intentionally or caused by my involuntary wrigglings across the desk. It whipped down across the very tops of my thighs and stung like bloody hell - even worse than those first two strokes. I screamed at the top of my voice and writhed over the desk in agony. Somehow I managed to stay down and to channel all of my efforts into holding on. But I was sobbing as I awaited the fourth and final stroke. New Statesman, London, 27 February 2006 The media column Peter Wilby gets down and dirty with Sarah Sands Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.”

Judi Grossman, now 63, spent the Seventies enjoying what she recalls as a carefree time in which long lunches and shopping were all part of a day’s work Corpun file 18044 The Sunday Telegraph, London, 19 February 2006 Letters The sisters applied the tawse religiously Sarah sat outside the office nervously, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. She’d been stupid ever to consider borrowing the money in the first place; what had been wrong with her old job? It hadn’t been that poorly paid, and she’d been paid every week without fail, that was one of the benefits of working for a large company. At first the idea of working for herself had sounded so attractive: just the thought of being her own boss, not having some stuffed shirt or silly little fart telling her what to do had been enough to lure her into it. But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Being your own boss did mean more freedom; it also meant more responsibility. No coming in late or you’d lose customers, and if you took a day off, you didn’t get paid at all.Soon her bottom was a lovely red, spreading down to her upper thigh. Mummy remembered the sit spot and how it stung, so delivered ten right across the point where her voluptuous cheeks joined her thighs. How they bounced, sinking in, then springing up instantly, and how she wriggled trying to pull free of the pain. But Mummy held her firmly, a tight grip around her waist holding the hand that tried to protect her. This annoyed Mummy, she was in mid flow! This is a story version of one of the true real life spankings as told to me by a delightful lady who went to a Girls Grammer School and was kept in line at home by a slipper wielding mother, who used it on her daughters bare bottom… Often! As regular as a metronome, the next stroke landed. To my horror this elicited a real scream and the sound of poor Lindsey bursting into tears. I was very close to tears myself, but couldn't help listening in horrified fascination. Yes Miss," Thomas replied, and now she was really beginning to detect the nervousness in his voice.