Diary – Chapter III – The School Secretary

The signs were there for me to read, but I missed them all. It was Joan, Headmistress, Miss Harding who read them first. Feminine intuition?

The School Secretary was Mrs Joyce. Annette to her friends. A tower of strength, she dealt with the Head’s paperwork, organised her diary, and increasingly helped when pupils were to be caned. It was, of course, the last which drew Joan’s suspicion. It was Mrs Joyce’s suggestion that pupils should wait in her office. If the Head was engaged, they could sit there until Joan was ready for them. Better than standing for ages in the corridor, where every passer-by would know what was afoot. If more than one was “on the carpet” Mrs Joyce could send them in one at a time. Very convenient.

Joan noticed that the inter-connecting door was always ajar during punishment. Even if the pupil shut it on entering the study, Mrs J always managed to open it again, silently.

The secretary took to lingering in the study after canings had taken place. Normally she was brisk and efficient, and at the end of the day brought letters to be signed, and swiftly departed to post them on the way home. Now she lingered, chatting about the drama just enacted in the study. And there had been her quick and eager offer to assist me with canings when Joan went away on a course.

All these suggested Mrs Joyce was not a little interested in punishment. So Joan, practical as ever, asked her about it. “You are interested in the canings I conduct here, aren’t you Mrs Joyce?” I was in the study at the time.

“Er. . . what do you mean, Headmistress?” She looked startled, and coloured up.

“Only what I say. I’ve noticed you take a close interest. It does you credit.” Joan was playing her like a salmon on a line. “Were you caned when you were young?”

“Well, no. I was always too scared to be naughty. But a lot of the kids were caned at my school.” She looked thoughtful. “In fact one incident made a huge impression on me at the time. Two boys were caned in front of the whole school. I’ll never forget it. Lots of the girls were affected by it. Some even wet themselves during the punishment. I can visualise that scene even now. The dead silence of the school, the sound of the boys’ footsteps as they walked the length of the hall, the announcement by the Head, and above all the sound of the cane on their trouser bottoms. And there is something else. It will sound silly, I know, but the guilt that I was always able to avoid corporal punishment when everyone else seemed to be getting it.”

Joan was very gentle with her. “That’s quite understandable, dear. We all have our demons, usually the result of some childhood experience. And this is your demon.” Mrs Joyce was for once silent.

“It might surprise you to know that you are not alone in those thoughts. Indeed there are two people in this very room who share them. Or something very similar. Can you believe that? Both Mr Sellars and I share your demon. There! I’ve revealed myself. What must you think of us!”

I watched Mrs Joyce. Her mouth had dropped open during this speech, and her face flushed anew. She was clearly speechless.

Joan got up from her desk and put her arm around Mrs Joyce. After silently hugging her for a moment, she said, “My dear, we can help, you know. If you are anything like me, you will want this demon purged. Like John, here, too. We’ve purged our own demons, and our lives are enriched as a result. We’ve done it for each other, and we can do this for you, too. If you’ll let us.”

Joan hugged her some more, and released her, looking down into her face. It was a picture. I saw hope there, anxiety, excitement, embarrassment, confusion. But above all, hope. “Think about it, my dear. Go home and consider it well. And don’t worry about us; we want to help.”

When Mrs Joyce had gone, Joan said, “She’s one of us, John. We must help her. Would you like to help?”

I couldn’t deny it.

Next day Joan had a quiet word with our troubled secretary. When she and I were together later she said, “I’ve spoken to Mrs Joyce. We are all going to meet tonight in this study at seven o’clock. Can you be here? She wants to be caned.”

I felt a surge of excitement.

“I’ve had a long talk with her. And we’ve made some decisions – if you are agreeable, of course.”

I said nothing, excitement mounting.

“She wants to be caned, and asked if I would do it. But we want your involvement, too. She’s not a lesbian, and she would be happier if there was a man present. I volunteered you. She’s going to feel embarrassed baring her bottom in front of the two of us, so to make her feel more at ease I think I should cane you, too. I know that you are dominant in our sex life, John, but on this occasion I wonder if you would make an exception? Please? I suggested to her that I would cane you first, trousers down, the full treatment, while she watched. Then she would undress and take a caning too. She jumped at the suggestion, so I do hope you think its OK?”

Wow! OK did not do justice to my feelings. “Well, that’s quite a suggestion. Well, I suppose. . . yes.” Somehow I sounded less enthusiastic than I felt. In fact the more I thought about it, the more thrilling it seemed. There was a tightness in my trousers already.

At seven that evening I knocked at the study door. I could hear voices. On Joan’s call I went in to find her sitting behind the desk. I noticed the scrap of carpet had been positioned in front of the horse, and a selection of canes lay on the great desk. Mrs Joyce was standing in front of the desk. To my amazement she was dressed in schoolgirl uniform; bottle green skirt and crisp white shirt open at the neck. Not standard at our own school, but evidently she had kept her old uniform. Out of sentiment, or had she been secretly hoping for an opportunity such as this? Not that it fitted too well. Mrs Joyce had put on some weight since her schooldays, and the skirt was very tight at the waist.

“Ah, John!” said Joan. “Come here, please, and stand alongside Annette here. We’ve decided to use first names. Well, for you two at least. You will address me as Headmistress this evening.”

The two of us stood demurely, hands clasped before us, as though we were naughty pupils here for punishment. The hair was bristling at the back of my neck – that familiar feeling. I watched my lovely Headmistress. She was in her smartest business suit, black and immaculate. The crisp white blouse under it had ruffles at the neckline. I’d only seen her wear that for Governors’ Meetings. I was sure the legs hidden under the desk would be covered in her finest black stockings. I was getting to know my Headmistress very well.

“I’ve decided to punish you both,” Joan continued. “You first, John.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” I replied.

“You will be strapped over the horse, and I’m going to flog you. It will be six of the best with a medium cane. You, Annette, will witness the punishment. Then you will change places, and you, Annette, will receive six strokes.” My mouth was dry and I wanted to relieve myself. Too late now.

Joan got to her feet and we all walked to the other end of the study where the horse awaited us. I was still oiling the leather regularly, and the characteristic smell was part of the punishment scene.

“Take your clothes off, please, John!” What, all of them, I thought, but when the Head is in imperious mood you don’t query her instructions. I took off everything, leaving underpants to last. Undressing before my lady was hugely erotic for me, especially when she was fully dressed, and somehow with another woman present the effect was even more powerful. Annette watched, red-faced, and I noticed she wasn’t too shy to stare at my sexual parts as I wrenched them from my underpants.

Joan pointed to the horse. I stood at the end and bent over the leather surface. The smell of leather was even more powerful here, and the feel of the horse was smooth and cool against my bare chest. My erection got in the way, and I had to push my hips back a little from the horse. Annette was told to fasten the straps, inducing the usual feeling of panic in me as she tightened one over my back. She fumbled with the ankle straps, but managed eventually. I was helpless. The horse was a little too low for me, and my legs were bent. My knees had to go outside the spread legs of the horse, which stretched my bottom cheeks wide apart. Not uncomfortable, but I felt open and exposed.

“Now stand at the far end of the horse, my dear,” said Joan, “and grasp John’s wrists. Whatever happens, hold on tight. If he struggles, you have to prevent him trying to protect his buttocks.”

I watched in the mirror as Joan went to choose a cane. The bundle rattled as she pulled one from the bunch. I lifted my head and stared at Annette. She was bending forward to grip my wrists. I noticed her breasts hanging heavily inside the smart schoolgirl blouse. Another button had come undone and the blouse hung open. I watched her breasts as she adjusted her stance. They quivered and swung heavily each time she moved, in spite of the bra I could see she was wearing. Those breasts would be a great comfort to me when the caning started. I tested her by trying to pull my hands away, but she held firm. She was looking at me when I raised my head, and we stared each other in the eye.

Joan wasted no time. She was taking her stance alongside my left hip, well away from me to allow a long clear swing of the cane. The cane felt cool as she touched my rump. Excitement surged in my chest as she pressed the cane into my sparse flesh. When the cane was taken away I glanced to my left to see Joan wind up her athletic body and unleash the first stroke. It hurt, certainly, but nothing like the previous flogging I’d taken from Madam. I looked back at Annette. Her mouth hung open and her eyes flashed with excitement. She was watching me closely. I know I winced at the second stroke, and the third caught me by surprise, causing me to gasp. I tried to play the strong silent hero, but a grunt escaped me on the last, when Joan unleashed a full-blooded slash. I know my face betrayed me throughout, and Annette must have thought me a wimp.

I had intended to watch Annette’s breasts during the beating to distract myself from the pain, but instead we had fixed each other in the eye. She must have been intrigued at my reaction to the caning, no doubt wondering how she would cope herself, while I had tried to defy her by staring her out. In this I had failed.

“Release him, please, Annette,” came the instruction from Joan. “And take his place.”

Annette fumbled with the buckles and eventually I was able to stand up. The beating had been much easier than the previous one, from Madam, and although my legs quivered I was able to walk well enough. Annette stepped onto the carpet in my place.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Annette?” said Joan. “Off with your clothes, my dear.” Joan and I watched while the woman unclipped her skirt and proceeded to undress. She was soon down to underclothes, a substantial plain bra and dark green school knickers. Annette looked round at us both, seemingly reluctant to remove anything else. “Come on! John was completely naked. I want you the same way, Annette. Quickly, now!”

Turning her back to me, Annette unclipped her bra and drew it off her breasts. I longed to see them. Somehow the sight of a woman’s breasts was becoming an important part of my CP games. She bent over to remove her knickers, and I spotted a breast swinging heavily as she overbalanced. Lovely! It did nothing to discourage my erection. When she had placed her underwear and other clothes on top of my own, it was time to go over the horse. I went quickly to the head of the horse, in time to watch as she lowered herself onto the leather surface. Her breasts were magnificent, swinging heavily forward and flattening as she pressed them onto the leather. I secured all the straps, taking a good look at her body. The hips were wide and buttocks generous, and I imagined the cane thwacking into the bulging flesh. Annette’s thighs were much thicker than Joan’s, with a pronounced taper. Most of the weight had gone onto her hips and breasts, though, and she still had a waist. Altogether her figure had an erotic quality, rather than the elegance and authority of Joan’s.

We lost no time. I took Annette’s wrists while Joan measured her distance, tapped the buttocks a few times and delivered the first stroke. Annette took it well, jerking her upper body and letting out a gasp. She pulled at my hands, too, but not enough to break my grip. I took hold more firmly as Joan wound up for the second stroke.

Annette was trying to put on a brave face. I looked into her eyes and she stared back hard. The second stroke must have been harder, though, for I saw the hurt cloud her eyes. She continued to look into my eyes, but less confidently now.

After the third, which caused Annette to cry out, Joan stopped and bent over her, asking if she was all right, and if she wanted to go on with the caning. “Yes, I’ll be alright,” Annette managed to say. Joan went back to her place, and Annette seemed to pull herself together. She lifted her head and looked me straight in the eye. Clearly she was determined to put on a brave face for the remainder of the punishment. I watched her face. When the fourth stroke arrived I saw the eyes dull again and she frowned. It was too much for her, and she dropped her head so that I couldn’t see her face. She pulled herself together again, and lifted her head. I could see moisture in her eyes; she was very close to weeping.

I must say I was surprised that Joan was wielding the same cane she had used on me. Nor was she striking more gently. It was clear from the vigorous way in which she used her whole body to impart energy to the cane that she was not sparing Annette. The last two strokes were a real trial for the woman, and she struggled not to cry out.

As I released the straps and grasped her shoulders to help her from the horse, I felt her sobbing. Her legs were shaking so much that she could barely stand, so I clasped her to myself until the shaking and sobbing died down. My erection had been getting stronger throughout the flogging, and now it was trapped between our bodies. Annette’s body was fleshy and warm, and felt wonderful. I don’t know what Joan was thinking just then.

Joan made me take Annette over to the sofa. “Sit in the middle, John, and put Annette over your lap. We’ll put some cream on that bottom. It looks awfully sore.” My erection was in the way again as I pulled Annette onto my thighs. We were both still naked. Joan could have suggested I put some clothes on, but didn’t. So I assumed she enjoyed seeing us both naked, and carried on.

Joan produced a jar of cream which we had found a comfort in our own games, and put a blob on each cheek. While Joan stroked one buttock I did the other. Annette moaned with pleasure. We covered the whole of the two cheeks, being especially attentive to the sore areas. The six stripes were plainly visible, even the first which had been much more restrained than the others. The other five were an angry red, and already ridges were developing. As we massaged in the cream Annette was audible in her enjoyment, so we carried on for some time.

“I think she’s in need of something extra, don’t you, John?” said Joan. She eased one of Annette’s legs away from the other, inviting me to slip my fingers between.

I looked at Joan. “You want me to feel in there?”

“Of course. She’s earned it, hasn’t she? You know how randy you get after a caning. Don’t you suppose Annette feels the same way? I’m not going to do it. I told you she wasn’t a lesbian; she won’t want me to do it. Go on!”

So I did.

My, but she was ready for it. As I slipped a finger down between her cheeks I encountered heat and liquid. She was awash. And I had hardly begun to feel inside when she started to come. Noisily, too. She’d taken the caning almost in silence; most of the evidence of pain had been in her eyes. Now she came, long and loud. I felt the spasm which convulsed her fanny like a long electric shock. I saw an arm reach out to grab Joan by the leg and drag her close. I don’t suppose she knew what she was doing. She pressed her face against the stockings on Joan’s leg, clutching desperately. The orgasm lasted longer than I expected, but eventually she quietened down.

I withdrew my fingers and carried on massaging the sore part of her bottom, very gently. Annette had been gulping air during the orgasm, but this subsided until she was lying quietly over my lap, moaning softly with pleasure. I knew from experience that what she needed was a restful spell, with long loving attention from a patient and sympathetic hand.

I also knew that following such a violent episode a second would gradually build up. Sure enough, after a few minutes the signs appeared. She reached behind herself and grasped my hand, guiding it back between her legs. She eased her legs apart and my hand slipped smoothly inside, encountering the same wet heat. This time everything happened more slowly. I had time to seek out her clit. She was so open I was able to get finger and thumb to it, and I teased it every way I could. I circled it with my finger, and heard a moan of satisfaction. I grasped it and pulled gently, and she shouted, “Yes, that’s lovely – go on.” I rolled it between thumb and forefinger, and she went through the roof. A second orgasm engulfed her, but this one was less violent. It went on much longer.

She had a third, too, before she rolled off my lap and knelt on the floor. She shook her head, and looked up at us both. “Oh, thank you so much. That was absolutely out of this world. I’ve so much to thank you for.” Annette was red in the face and her hair dishevelled. We helped her up. “Oh, I can hardly stand,” she said.

Annette had forgotten to be modest, and when she bent over to collect her clothes her generous breasts swung for me once more. I looked hastily at Joan, who was watching me with a half-smile on her face. “Enjoying the view, I note, John!” She looked down at my lap, where I was betraying myself. As soon as Annette had carried her things through into her office, closing the connecting door, Joan held her hand out to me and we walked to the horse where she draped herself elegantly, spreading her legs as if she wanted a caning. This was impossible. As the stripes on her buttocks reminded me, Joan had taken a stiff caning from me only the previous weekend, so a beating was out of the question. I knew what was expected of me, though. I fixed the straps in place and stood back to enjoy the sight. Joan had long legs, and the horse was too low for her as it had been for me. Her legs were stretched wide and the buttocks rolled open. Her head was lifted towards the mirror as she watched me at work, and because of her hollowed back Joan’s genitals were thrust towards me, wide open, red and wet.

Time for me to wield my rod!

With my first stroke I slid all the way inside. She responded audibly, loudly, and came before I did. Then it was my turn, also audibly, and hardly was that over but Joan came again.

We were so pre-occupied we never noticed the connecting door being opened, just a little.

The next day Joan told me about her conversation with Annette after I had gone home. They’d had a long talk, and Annette had opened her heart. She had always had urges to be spanked, but they were much stronger now that she had to listen to school punishments in the adjacent office. Her husband was no help. On the only occasion Annette had asked to be spanked, the husband had ridiculed her, and told her she must be crazy; some sort of pervert.

Joan had earnestly explained that loads of people have this urge to be spanked or caned, even to take quite severe punishment, and that it was absolutely normal. She had talked about her own desire to be caned, as well as mine. The desire to wear special clothing, too, was discussed and Joan had promised to show Annette some of the things we liked to use in our lovemaking and CP sessions. Most importantly, they had agreed that Annette would be invited to take part in more of our playtime antics.

One other thing Joan learned. Annette had a horror of being chided. To be called naughty or wicked, to be up for punishment for an offence only made her miserable. The schoolgirl scenario was fine, but not the naughty schoolgirl.

“Next time, though,” said Joan, “she wants you to do the caning. And she wants it harder. More strokes, too. It was over too quickly for her last night.”

Funny how I always seemed to be agreeing with Joan these days.

The next time soon came around. A couple of weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, Joan was up to her old tricks.

I made a routine visit to her office to be briefed on tasks for the next week. We did the work, and when I got up to leave Joan dropped something on the floor. Naturally I went onto hands and knees to search for it, brushing my hand over the carpet between her legs. She chose that moment to swivel the chair towards me. She half rose from the chair, and slid the tight skirt with a silky swishing sound up her thighs, revealing sumptuous French knickers, lacy, black and flimsy. She put a hand behind my head and overbalanced me, pulling my face into the knickers and pressing it there. I could smell the warmth of her body as well as the personal odours with which I was becoming familiar.

At that moment Mrs Joyce walked in with letters to be signed. She was half way to the desk before realising she’d caught us in unschool-like behaviour. “Oh, I’m sorry, Headmistress. I’ll come back later,” she blustered, colouring up in her innocent way. I struggled to my feet, hoping my erection was not noticeable.

“No, no. Come in. I’ll deal with those now,” said Joan. There was a sheaf of letters to be signed. She hurriedly pulled down her skirt, again making a soft swishing noise which was to me infinitely sexy. She sat down and signed the letters, and Annette took them away.

I bent over her, speaking close to her ear. “You naughty, naughty girl, Headmistress!” I whispered. You are going to be punished for that. What will that woman think!”

“I hope she thinks we are in the mood for erotic games, John,” she replied, haughtily. “That is, if you really are in the mood? Perhaps you’d rather read an improving book and have an early night? Anyway, I’ve invited her to eat with us in the Italian Restaurant. You can come along if you wish.”

I picked them both up in my car. “What does your husband think about you spending Friday evening out and about?” I asked Annette.

“Oh, he’s not very interested. He won’t even ask. He’s gone to the Golf Club as usual. He’ll have something to eat there, and spend the rest of the evening in the Nineteenth. Like he usually does. As long as I’m in by midnight he won’t even know I’ve been out.”

In the restaurant I ordered wine. Annette asked for a G&T, explaining that she was a bit nervous about coming out with her bosses. Joan leaned over and kissed her cheek, saying, “Oh, don’t worry my dear. You’re among friends, you know.”

“Yes, I know, replied Annette, but you are friends that bite. At least, you cane people. That can make a girl feel a bit nervous, you know.” She continued to prattle on, mainly about canes and caning, leaving me in little doubt about what this evening was really about.

It was three weeks since Joan’s last caning, and I wondered if the marks had gone. I told Annette about our rule. “Would you like me to check Joan’s bottom? I can soon tell if she’s ready for another dose.” She and Joan got up and went to the ladies. They were away some time, and when they came back, Annette said, “Its alright. The marks have disappeared. I can hardly make them out at all.” Joan said nothing.

“In that case,” I said, “Joan’s in for it, good and proper. You saw what she was doing this afternoon, didn’t you, Annette?”

“Well, you seemed to be sniffing around her snatch, you naughty boy.” Annette was getting over-confident. She was on the third gin, and not taking it very well. Joan was sitting quietly, a half-smile on her face. It was time for me to take charge. We ate a dish of pasta and I drove to Joan’s house.

On the way I started to worry about handling these two. I knew Joan was to be punished, and that Annette would want to be caned as well. But how to bring this about? To line them up as two naughty young women, to be punished for offences was OK for Joan but not for Annette. Play it by ear, John, and hope for the best.

We went straight up to Joan’s bedroom. Annette wanted a wee, and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door open. We listened to the waterfall, Joan watching me with a smile on her face. She knew how I liked the sound. When Annette emerged I made her sit in one of the comfortable armchairs, to watch while I dealt with Joan.

“Come here, my girl!” I said, pointing to the centre of the bedroom. Joan sidled into place, standing casually, waiting for my performance.

“I’ve a bone to pick with you,” I began. “That performance in your office was quite unacceptable. Anybody could have walked in while you were pressing my face into your panties. We were lucky it was only Annette. But playing sexual games in front of her is not acceptable behaviour. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Joan did not look ashamed, but she continued to stand quietly. I expected her eyes to be cast down, hands folded submissively in front. But no! Hands on hips, head high. Dignified, if not arrogant.

“I’m going to punish you for it. The cane, Joan.” I was thinking desperately. Which cane to use, how many strokes? Bending over for me or lying on the bed? And what was to be Annette’s part in all this? I’d been caning Joan about once a month, and the punishments had been getting more severe, until last time when she’d taken eighteen strokes with one of our most painful canes. There had been no sign from her that this was her limit.

I walked over to the wardrobe, where I knew she kept a selection of canes. I selected the one we’d used last time. It wasn’t the thickest in the collection, but it was harder than the others, brown in colour, and the results on Joan’s backside had been spectacular. I had wound red tape around the handle, to distinguish it from the others.

I returned to Joan, whose manner was beginning to annoy me. Far too confident, she was. I pressed the cane against her face to demonstrate its hardness. She was smiling a little. Pulling her face away a fraction, she turned her head and kissed the cane, pressing her lips onto it and holding the kiss. I let her continue for a while. When I removed the cane I already knew she was expecting something beyond our previous games.

“For this offence I’m going to give you three dozen strokes.”

There was a shriek from behind me. “Oh, that’s too much! You mustn’t, you mustn’t!” This from Annette, who had stood up and come towards us. “Oh, please don’t do that to my dear, dear Joan.” She paused, before saying, “I’ll take half of them.”

I thought quickly. This will involve Annette, so one problem is solved. But eighteen strokes is far too much for her. In only her second caning such a punishment would be awful.

“That’s very courageous of you, my dear,” I said. “But you are far too generous. Yes, you can take some of the caning, but only six strokes, I think.”

We had a bit of an auction, and in the end Annette was to take twelve strokes, and Joan would have to accept the remaining two dozen. Still an ordeal for both of them, I was sure.

“Right,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Take off your shoes, and then your frocks. Both of you.”

They did as they were told. For the first time I studied their clothes. To my surprise they both had similar black dresses, rather longer than Joan usually wore, but showing off handsome busts to best advantage. These I had enjoyed during dinner. Shoes and stockings were similar, too. I found out later how this had come about. Joan had taken Annette shopping the previous Saturday, buying for her suitable clothing. She called it ‘their uniform’ and I was beginning to associate discipline with such smart black wear. Annette needed help with the hooks behind her back, and Joan obliged, easing the frock off the shoulders. She crouched and slid the form-hugging garment down over the hips so that Annette could step out.

The figure now revealed took my breath away. I knew she was plump, but the underwear showed everything off to gorgeous effect. It was a complete matching set of black bra, suspender belt and French knickers, lace effect and very ornate. The bra was substantial; it had to be to hold those splendid breasts high and together, emphasising their bulk and rounded shape. Black stockings, of course, completed the effect, which I found magical.

It was Joan’s turn to be stripped, and Annette pulled off the dress with a lot of silky swishing sounds. Her underwear was similar, except that the bra was not so bulky. I looked at the two of them standing as if for my inspection. I walked round them. Joan had a figure that any woman would die for. Tall, fit, and curved as a truly beautiful woman should be. I was so proud of her. Alongside her, Annette was comparatively short and dumpy, but more erotic than ever in her underwear. I removed my jacket and fetched a cane from the cupboard. I dragged the dressing stool to the foot of the bed. It was about three feet wide, big enough for the two of them to kneel side-by-side. Back in front of them I rolled my right sleeve.

“Right,” I said, trying to sound firm. “I’m going to cane you both together. Kneel on the stool, please. . . Yes. . . Both of you.”

They knelt on the stool and bent forward, elbows resting on the bed. I realised it would be difficult to strike one without touching the other, so I made them move their elbows a little to the left, so their bodies were in echelon. The knickers both were wearing had loose hanging material, so I drew them well up, tucking the spare material into the crevice between their buttock-cheeks. This left almost all their bottoms exposed to my view.

I compared them. Joan’s were apple-shaped with very white skin. Marks showed vividly on her after a beating, and took several weeks to fade. I loved their shape; perfection. Very womanly, very feminine. Rounded and very, very smooth. Alongside, Annette’s pear-shaped buttocks were darker skinned. After childbearing they had become broader and bulkier, taking on a maturity which I found fascinating.

I could have spent a long time looking at them, but it was important to get on. It must have been torture for them having to wait. “I shall start with you, Annette, and give you one stroke of the cane. Then you will get two strokes, Joan. I shall repeat this until you have both taken your full dose.” There was no sound from the two women.

I continued. “This is your punishment for your behaviour in the study, Joan, and It will be severe. Annette, you’ve done nothing wrong, and it is very much to your credit that you have offered to take some of Joan’s punishment for her. Very generous of you, and I’m sure she is very grateful to you. But the caning will be severe, and you will have to be brave.”

With that I lost no time. Reaching out with the cane I touched Annette’s broad bottom a couple of time, and I saw her shudder. Concentrating hard, I drew back the cane and made the first stripe. She gasped. It had been a tough one, and I was by no means sure she could take the whole twelve.

Moving forward a pace I caned Joan. I had intended to leave a gap between the first and second strokes, but I was wound up and over-eager, and the combination of the two strokes must have been hard to bear.

I concentrated hard, everything else driven from my mind. After Annette’s third stroke I suddenly realised I was not formally counting, so I said “Three!” out loud. Annette was taking them noisily. The gasp immediately after each stroke soon become a cry, and she wriggled and shook her body in a vain effort to relieve the pain. Joan was quieter. but dropped her head after each stroke, and was clearly making a big effort to control herself. I could see neither of their faces.

After her eighth stroke, Annette knelt upright, clasping both cheeks. I let her do this while Joan received her fifteenth and sixteenth.

When I was ready for Annette again, I said, ”Down onto your elbows, Annette. I shall give you one more, then two for Joan, and then you may both have a rest.” They said nothing, and I gave Annette another stroke. She jumped off the stool, clasping her bottom, and ran away to the corner of the room where she crouched, still holding herself. I still couldn’t see her face, but I heard her sobs and guessed the tears were profuse. Joan took her dose, and she too stood up, turning away from me to hide her face. They were brave, these women, and proud.

Joan went over to the corner where Annette crouched. She bent to put her arms around her. They rested there a few minutes, until I decided the proceedings must be completed. I told them to stand up and come over to the stool. They obeyed, walking slowly and stiffly. They had both recovered their poise, and looked at me for instructions.

“You’ve both been tested,” I said. “I’m not going to insist you take further strokes. If you’ve had enough, well, I’m satisfied.”

They looked at one another. “I want to finish what I started,” said Annette firmly.

“Are you sure, Annette darling?” asked Joan, looking hard into her face. When Annette nodded, Joan said, “Well, I want to finish it, too. I’ll take the other six strokes. Please!”

“Very well,” I replied. “If you are both sure, then over you go. But first, lets have those knickers off.”

It took longer than I had expected. They had to undo the suspender clips. And when the knickers were removed they had to refasten the clips. Annette, in particular, was trembling, and had difficulty. But eventually they were ready, and they climbed together onto the dressing stool and leaned over the bed.

I was shocked by the damage done to their flanks. Joan was especially marked. During the respite the marks had become much darker, angry-looking. I could see a few stray stripes, but the majority were bunched together on the lower buttocks. The marks looked as though the skin was very nearly broken, and areas had taken on a glazed, shiny appearance.

Losing no time I caned Annette once, Joan twice and Annette again. Annette cried out loudly at each stroke. She was getting desperate, and I judged only just managing to hold on. Even Joan was shouting as the cane landed, and between strokes was gasping and muttering, though I couldn’t make out any words. It was thrilling to hear their distress.

Preparing to deliver Joan’s twenty first, I noticed a blister had formed on one of the stripes, probably where two or three strokes had landed on exactly the same place. It was obvious that the blister would burst if I landed anywhere near the spot, so I told Joan to stand up.

“Its over for you tonight,” I explained. I told her about the blister, and that I wasn’t prepared to go on with her. “However, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t finish Annette’s set. One more stroke, Annette!”

Joan stepped back out of the way, and I took careful aim. Annette had only taken eleven strokes so far, and the stripes were more spread over her capacious bottom. I put as much effort into the last stroke as to the others. Annette screamed and fell forward onto the bed, clutching her bottom.

I put the cane away and found the soothing cream we thought so effective. I helped Joan to the bed where she lay down alongside Annette. They were face down, and I applied the cream to both of them. Joan lay quietly, face pressed into the pillow, eventually moaning with pleasure as my creamy fingers gently soothed her soreness. Annette was sobbing again, and clutching her bottom, releasing it only when I applied the cream.

Joan was the first to recover. She rolled over and spoke to me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take them all, John. I think Annette is very distressed, though, and I think you should give her some special attention.”

I cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she meant. Joan leaned over Annette and eased her legs apart. “There, John. . . in there. . . use some more cream and give her some pleasure. She’s earned it.”

It was amazing that this beautiful woman could be so generous. I thought she would be desperate for some sexual attention herself; she always got it when we were by ourselves. She was right, though. As soon as my hand touched the inside of Annette’s thigh she moaned excitedly and opened wider. She was running wet and very hot in there, and came almost at once, noisily. I continued to attend to the soft inside tissue, and she moaned happily.

Joan put her hand behind my head. “Why don’t you do what you did to me last week? With your mouth.” She pressed me gently and I yielded, letting her guide my head down between Annette’s thighs. I put my lips against Annette’s swollen labia. As always she was hot and wet. I pushed further, pressing my lips forward into the gap and rummaged for the clit. I found lots of loose tissue in there, sucking it all into my mouth. I could hear Annette shouting her pleasure.

She clamped her thighs against my ears. The thighs, too, were hot. I loved it in there, and the more I sucked and swilled her around my mouth the more she shouted. I felt her orgasm. A spasm travelled through her sexual parts like an electric shock. She had two or three, a minute or two between each, and I relaxed my efforts to let her recover. She eased her thighs apart, and my ears welcomed the cool air. I surfaced, and gratefully filled my lungs. Annette was thanking me, thanking Joan, telling us how wonderful it all was.

I lay between them and Joan and I put our arms round each other. Joan put her leg onto mine and I entered her. We clasped each other hard, and Annette snuggled up behind me. I could feel her generous breasts flatten against my back and felt her breath on my neck.

There were orgasms galore and we drifted off to sleep eventually, still locked together. I woke during the night, already hard, aware that somebody was guiding me inside her. I didn’t enquire who it was, but she was warm and yielding. That was lovely, too, and we slept some more.

In the morning I woke to find Annette almost dressed. “Will you take me home, please?” she said.

I pulled on some clothes and drove her the short distance home. She kissed me happily, saying, “You were fantastic last night. Joan’s a lucky girl.” She hurried inside. I was worried about her husband. He must be furious that she’d spent the night in someone else’s bed.

The truth came out on Monday. Annette revealed to Joan that he never knew she’d been out at all. Saturday evening had been spent in the Golf Club as usual, and when he got home he was always sozzled, so wouldn’t notice she wasn’t there. And when she got in next morning he was still asleep.

Didn’t he know what a sexy wife he had?