Although there was a generous fire burning in the grate, the April chill held sway in the corner of the room where Catherine stood. She could not move to the fireside as she would have wished, as her uncle Martin had been quite explicit that she wait in the corner, and in the condition of undress that she was presently not enjoying.
The chill of the room was nothing in comparison to the ice-water that seemed to have filled her insides. Her stomach was like a block of ice, and it seemed to be rising and falling every minute, from lodging in her throat to dissolving her bowels. Catherine’s outer self was cold as well, though, and not surprisingly, as she was naked from the waist down and standing rigidly still facing the corner of the room.
“How and why have I got myself into this dreadful situation”?, Catherine thought to herself. It had all seemed so harmless, and though it had turned out to be just the opposite, Catherine thought Uncle Martin’s passionate reaction to be extreme and unexpected. She had been visiting her uncle’s country house for almost a week to assist in the care of the two children, Arthur and Emily, while Aunt Louisa stayed with her sister, Maude, during her confinement. Catherine had been excited about this visit, as she loved Uncle Martin and the dear children, and the wonderful garden and park of the house afforded many hours of pleasure to her wandering and somewhat restless nature. Not that she had sufficient time to satisfy her inclination to solitary exploration on this occasion, as the children had an excess of energy and a fascination with herself that precluded leisure. She did not mind, however, as it was a pleasure to lead the children in outdoor rambles, adventures of imagination, and the occasional scrape. This pleasure led, through a path Catherine could not foresee, to her current dismal predicament. Arthur had begged to be allowed to sit in the small boat that was tied to a landing at the edge of the large ornamental lake in the centre of the grounds. Emily added her entreaties to this request, pleading that their game of make-believe pirates could only be advanced, or accomplished, if they were to sit in the boat. It would be quite safe, as the little vessel was lashed securely to two ropes, fore and aft, to the landing. The difficulty was that Uncle Martin’s inflexible and adamant rule was that nobody was to board the boat under any circumstances except in his presence. Catharine regretted bitterly now that she had disobeyed this strict injunction. As seemed fated, mishap had quickly followed Catharine’s accession to the children’s entreaty. The trepidation of Arthur and Emily as they climbed with commendable caution into the boat quickly altered to recklessness as the excitement of pirate adventures conquered prudent care, and Arthur in standing suddenly to repel an attack at the starboard side, set the small craft to rocking so violently that both children were thrown from its accommodation into the less welcoming embrace of the cold lake water, which with mud and slimy weeds combined to damped their ardor, depress their spirits, and leave their clothes in such a state that many hours of restoration by the maids would be required to render them wearable again.
None of this entered Catherine’s mind in the first minutes of the shock and horror that the emergency prompted. Quickly, though, she managed without any real difficulty to haul first Emily then Arthur onto the landing. Arthur made a pitiful attempt at bravado, but his chin was quivering and his voice was cowed. Emily’s voice was in fine condition, and she exercised it frightfully as she ran shrieking and sobbing to the house. By the time Catherine, herself shaking and subdued, escorted Arthur to the door of the house, Uncle Martin and the housekeeper, Mrs Roper, had dashed without in all that start that the sudden alarm of danger can bring to previous composure. There is no anger like that excited by willful recklessness causing real danger, especially to one’s children. This sensation can turn the mildest and most affectionate father to a tartar thirsting for the relief that only vigorous and merciless retribution can supply. Uncle Martin’s furious and ice-cold eyes made Catherine quail to her still shaking core, and she felt a dread she had never before experienced when in the comfort and sanctuary of her loving family. The children were at once dispatched to the care of the nursemaid and housekeeper, with a promise that they would be dealt with in a more rigorous fashion when their mother returned home. Aunt Louisa had charge of discipline for the children and household staff, but her sweet temper and soft feelings had for the most part ensured that the rod was spared for all but very serious breaches of good conduct. This accident may prove to be a breach exceeding any others.
The reckoning for Catherine was to be more immediate, however, and unfortunately for her, it was to be meted out while Uncle Martin’s anger was stoked by continuing feelings of shock and dread of what might have attended such an alarming accident. Though there had never been the least suggestion that Catherine, now a grown woman of twenty-two, might be subjected to physical chastisement, that doom was pronounced in words that were all the more terrifying for being delivered quietly and coldly. She was told to go directly to the study, to strip herself from her waist down and to stand in the corner until Uncle Martin should find it convenient to wait upon her.
As Catherine waited, she was prey to succeeding sensations, the chief of them being shame, but dread, embarrassment, violated modesty, and regret all had their moments of primacy. Her face and neck blushed red, and her heart fluttered, even as the icy chill gripped her bare bottom and legs. Time was playing tricks with her. She wished it away, and wished it infinitely prolonged, all at once. The idea of Uncle Martin thrashing her bare bottom, for it was evident he intended that, filled Catherine with shame and dismay. To be so humiliatingly and indecently exposed before him was more than she thought she could bear, yet bear it she must. She knew she deserved to be punished, and almost hoped for it, as she felt it would restore her to her uncle’s esteem and wipe away her guilt. Surely he wouldn’t be severe with her. He was such a kind man, that he would be content with shaming her and with token chastisement, probably with his hand only. Wouldn’t he?
Alas, such was not to be. When finally, after seeming hours had passed, Uncle Martin entered the room, the interval had done nothing to lessen his resolution to make his niece learn a very sharp lesson, one so sharp and salutary that he would never again face the disagreeable necessity to chastise his adult relative. Catherine began to turn when she heard the door open, but was briskly told to face the corner and listen to instructions. Catherine was conscious that her bare bottom was on display to her uncle, but the shame of that indelicacy was replaced by growing dread and incredulity as her flitting wits finally understood her pronounced sentence.
“Your own good sense will have informed you better than I can that you have behaved with shocking irresponsibility, with the result that my children were led into danger and disobedience. It pains me to see my adult niece in that indecent condition of undress, and to have no alternative to chastising her like an errant child. My intention is to make your punishment a severe one, indeed so severe that we may never find ourselves revisiting it. I am confident of that. I am going to thrash you with this cane, until I can see that you are properly chastened and contrite, and while I have no wish to be unduly cruel the circumstances attending this sad affair impel me against my natural inclination, to allow rigour to rule lenience. I am not so severe, that I will cane your cold bottom directly. I will warm it up with an instrument that, while less severe, will impart a good understanding to the punishment that is before you”.
Catherine’s heart lurched at these words and her courage almost forsook her. “The cane, and some other fell instrument of punishment! Oh, I cannot endure it, added to the shame of my exposure”, Catherine thought.
“Now come here, girl, and bend right across the desk, gripping the far edge. I want you to maintain that posture for the duration of your thrashing, and I will not suffer you to stand or interpose your hands to protect your bottom. If you do so, I will ring for Mrs Roper and a maid to hold you down”.
The idea of that gave Catherine the determination to endure her torment with stoicism and to maintain her position, and she hoped her composure, through whatever was to come. She had no idea of the sensations a cane would produce in a bared bottom, as she had never suffered anything like it. She felt dread, but an anxiety for her ordeal to be commenced and completed, so that she could escape to her room to lament in solitude the events of the morning.
Catherine walked to the large, leather-topped desk and bent across it, taking hold of the far edge. To do so, she had to bend low, for the desk was below the level of her hips. In this position Catherine was sensible of the fact that her bottom was obscenely displayed, and that the downy slit of her cunny must be visible between her slightly parted legs. She hoped her uncle would be gentleman enough to avert his gaze from that shameful spectacle.
“If you are ready, niece, I shall begin, and I warn you that the strokes will be sharp ones. Pray hold your position until I tell you to stand”.
Catherine could barely comprehend these words when a swift whir followed by a loud crack rent the air. Someone screamed, and Catherine realized it was she. It was the fright of sudden action succeeding long anticipation, but the feeling instantly following was a searing pain across the whole of her distended bottom. It was unimaginable: a furious stinging accompanied by a burning pain. Catherine’s lungs expelled all breath, and she was struggling for air when the next blow landed. The shock increased, the pain swelled and anxiety gave way to near panic.
“I cannot endure this, I cannot!” the stricken girl thought, as her mind reeled into turmoil. Pain, seemingly infinite and beyond the capacity for increase, found some way to build, grow and swell into a roaring tide that swept Catherine into another world, hitherto unimagined. “ This is hell, this is what the damned suffer for all eternity” the wretched girl thought.
It wasn’t. Hell was yet to come, but it lurked in that room in the corporeal form of forty inches of rattan cane half an inch in diameter. Catherine was being thrashed with a leather strap, two feet long, two inches wide, and 3/8 of an inch thick.
The suffering girl didn’t count the blows – her mind was incapable of registering anything but pain. Shame and remorse had been swept away by the flood of burning, stinging and the building ache that had spread from her bottom to consume her body and mind. The lashing continued remorselessly, with ten cracking strokes succeeding the previous ten, to be swept aside by the following ten. Catherine, all but swooning and beyond hope or help or thought, was brought back to herself by the sudden cessation of the noise of the strap’s impact and its frightful bite. In her delirium she grasped relief, and the joyous thought that her ordeal was over and she had endured it.
Oh, Catherine, were it so. With her mind regaining some faculty, realization followed, and utter dismay overwhelmed her. The cane was still to come, and the torture she had suffered was only to warm her up!
“Oh, uncle, please spare me the cane. I have suffered so dreadfully that I cannot endure more, and you cannot mean to kill me so cruelly.”
Catherine felt sure she would be spared any more punishment, as she had suffered so much, surely several score strokes. Her bottom was on fire and stinging sharply with wave succeeding wave of sharp pain.
“You have yet to suffer the chief part of your thrashing. I mean to make an impression upon you that will not soon be forgotten, and I’ll work an amendment in you such that you will never again let recklessness, disobedience and impetuosity rule your native sense and duty. It is for your own good, while much to my displeasure and disinclination.”
Martin was not being candid or honest in this. In fact, while he began the proceedings reluctantly and with equal parts of embarrassment and self-consciousness, he was overtaken by base feelings as the whipping commenced and continued. He had meant to chastise, but as the lashing grew into a steady rhythm, stirrings of pleasure came to life, and they were growing towards passionate excitement and even arousal. The girl, bent as she was, afforded a delicious prospect. Her bottom, at first white as milk, soon turned as red as her hair, and as red as the downy, curly hair he could see nestled between her legs as she lay so exposed across the desk. What a fine bottom it was, as if carved from the whitest marble by the finest sculptor! It was womanly in its roundness and plumpness, but the underlying taut muscle was evident. The profile had a jutting high roundness that was peculiar to youth, and the crease between the orbs was deep and dark, and a little open at its lower extremity, before it reached beneath her to those caverns of delight at her centre.
Martin became more excited the longer the whipping continued. Catherine jigged and wriggled as the lash depressed the flesh of her bottom to have it spring back adorned by a white stripe that quickly blushed an angry red. Her whole bottom from the top of the crease to the junction with her thighs soon became a fiery red, with angry purplish patches where the edge of the strap struck, or where successive lashes mortified the cheeks. Martin had no resolution as to the number of strokes he would deliver, but he was transported by his rising passion to a severity he wouldn’t have countenanced before the whipping began.
When the strapping ended, the punished girl took the opportunity to stand erect and dance from one foot to the other while rubbing her throbbing bottom.
“Resume your position”, was her uncle’s instruction, and Catherine meekly did so, with the fatalistic feeling that she could only obey and hope to endure. When the first lash of the cane cut across the middle of her offered bottom, Catherine thought she would die. She had never felt the like of that searing, biting infliction of a pain that was beyond her imagination. One summer a wasp had stung her arm, and at the time she had thought it the apex of sudden, sharp pain. It was not. The cane stroke was like one hundred wasp stings in a line across her bottom, attended by a hard, bruising, cutting blow. Catherine gasped, but couldn’t expel a cry before the second crack of agony arrived.
Had her senses been alive to anything but the tide of pain waxing through her body, Catherine might have noticed the effect of her whipping on her uncle. Arousal was now washing through him, fixing his stare on the roasted red bottom criss-crossed with purpling welts, his breath was coming fast and sharply, and he could feel the urgent swelling of a strong erection. He knew he’d soon have to find relief for that, but couldn’t stop raining quicker and harder blows across his niece’s quivering bottom. He knew he’d have to stop soon, as the punishment had gone beyond what was deserved, and the girl’s suffering must be acute. But Martin was in the grip of a novel passion that exceeded any he’d hitherto felt. He knew he’d never have occasion to thrash Catherine again after this bitter experience, and his mind cast about for other women he could cane for his own satisfaction, regardless of cause. He considered his wife, Louisa, the nurse, the maids. Surely preposterous; or was it?
Catherine was lost. She had drifted to a place she didn’t know, where her bottom, her body, herself floated in a void, but it wasn’t a void, it was filled with the element, pain. When she thought she must die or lose her reason, something strange happened. New sensations she didn’t recognize began to jostle the pain blasts along her nerves to her brain, and quickly vanquished them. The pain remained, but it was now only background, and it wasn’t so fearsome. The new thing built to a consciousness of excitement and even triumph. Her bottom began to tingle in an almost agreeable way, and to her perplexity and dismay, Catherine began to feel lewd sensations deep in the secret slit between her legs. Her heart and stomach seemed to expand and contract to a rapid and compelling rhythm, and she became aware, in that portion of her mind still serviceable, that a wet and sticky emanation was drenching her cunny. “How shameful is this”? she thought, in a mixture of dismay and satisfaction. The stream became a river, and the river a flood, and Catherine shrank at the idea that Uncle Martin must be able to observe her sopping slit, which she knew was opening and closing in a most wanton manner. “What will he think of me”? she wondered, while being beyond caring. All that mattered now was the building excitement that was sweeping her away.
Just as Martin threw down the cane with a groan, and hurried from the room with the instruction that she stand in the corner again, a flooding ejaculation of fluid gripped her muscles and paralyzed her mind. It was followed by a sudden jerking of bodily tension and release, accompanied by the most delicious sensation Catherine had ever imagined. She slumped limp against the desk, and put her fingers to her slit to test the source of the fluid still oozing from her.
After some minutes she resumed her stance in the corner, her bottom throbbing and burning, but somehow in an agreeable way. Her exploring fingers found that her bottom was a mass of tender welts, but she couldn’t see what it looked like. Presently, after fifteen minutes Uncle Martin returned.
“Are you alright?"
“Yes, I am rather, but I don’t know how. You got a little carried away, didn’t you?"
“I did”, Martin replied, “but it was so good and authentic that I was transported into the story. I couldn’t stop – I’m afraid I gave you thirty or more of the cane instead of the twenty-four we’d agreed upon.”
“That’s just as well," said Catherine, “it was only during the last dozen or so that I really got into it, beyond the pain. You managed perfectly, as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s great to hear,” he said. "I love it when it is just right for both parties, and it’s rarely this good. Did the scenario you dreamed up work as well as you’d hoped?"
“Much better. I never imagined a spanking could be this good. I’ve been waiting such a long time. It took me ages to find the contacts into the spanking world, and muster the courage to contact you and come along. It has changed my life. I know I’ll be back.”
“Not for a while you won’t. Have a look at that bottom first. You should ice it when you go home, and even then it’ll take weeks to recover its beautiful alabaster whiteness. You may, of course, cherish the marks and gloat over them every day until they are gone.”
“Very likely. I can’t wait to get home and have a good look in the mirror. I may even take photos on the timer. That’s the beauty of digital cameras.”
“Yes,” replied Martin, “put these shots into the chemist and it’d be a heart attack for the old boy!”
Catherine opened the front door of the house and stepped into the Bristol street. She didn’t live a great distance away, but it certainly was too far to walk to Cornwall! She couldn’t quite imaging sitting in the train, though. “I’ll have to stand” she thought, “and I hope the train is crowded, as it’ll look awfully odd if I’m standing with seats available.” She set off down the road with a glow in her inner core, a smile on her face, and a spring in her step. She’d never really known what having a spring in one’s step meant, but she knew now. How sad for everybody else that it took a sound thrashing and a welted, roasting bottom to produce it.
