The Holy Moley Moment … This is Going to Hurt!

Spanking is about experimentation, diversification and most of all about our own individual tastes, so thanks as always to fellow bloggers who have added me to their lists of posts. Today’s appreciations go to Mitch Philbin over at ‘All Things Spanking’ … sorry guy, I can’t think how I missed you before, and also to Tiggr D’Amore for her reciprocating link over at ‘A Spanking Good Time’; both these blog-owners are great representatives of our community.

Sadly work once again interrupts my more pleasurable activities but I would like to leave you with this image … I have no idea of the provenance of the photographer or model, but judging by the date on my archive I think it was originally posted back in the day by Bernie or Wulfram (shows how old I am).

I guess this young lady is finally faced with the ‘Oh Shit’ moment of ‘Don’t act the minx if you can’t take the licks’. Sound familiar Jojo?

 

It amused me anyway … lol ..Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Born to be Spanked

Have you ever come across a gal in your everyday life that it occurs to you that she would probably benefit from a damn good spanking? Not for any particular reason or for anything they have done but they just have an aura about them that gives the impression a trip over the knee would benefit them considerably.

There are numerous wonderful blogs that pay homage to the region of the female anatomy that is of most interest to punters of my persuasion. There is no question that many (or all) of these posteriors are perfectly designed for six crisp thwacks with a whippy, rattan cane, but these are not the women I am speaking about.

For instance, many years ago, back in the UK, I had a particularly grueling commute to the office that involved several underground and over-ground trains. Travelling on British Rail commuter trains is a peculiar business; although there is no assigned seating arrangements travelers become very territorial, always using the same carriage and whenever possible the same seat every day.

The 7:40 Waterloo to Guildford was no exception and for two years I shared a compartment with the same few commuters. One of my fellow travelers was a young businesswoman. We became nodding acquaintances but in keeping with commuter convention we rarely spoke.

She was an attractive creature, with a slightly rounded face, large eyes, a button-nose and a full pouty mouth. She was always meticulously dressed in dark skirted business suits and read the Guardian newspaper. For no particular reason from the moment I first set eyes on her I became convinced that she needed to be spanked apropos of nothing in particular.

For a writer trains are a great source of inspiration. I used to select a person and compile their life’s history to while away the boredom of travelling. I spent many hours piecing together this unsuspecting young lady’s back-story. She appeared educated and from the rare occasions I heard her speak she had that slightly plummy accent that is generally only learned at English boarding schools. She had a certain air of self-confidence so I imagined she might have fulfilled the lofty role of Headgirl.

She smoked and occasionally on Friday evenings I would see her with a friend/colleague in the buffet car drinking white wine so I assumed that under the veneer of respectability lurked an inner-Ladette. I imagined that she had probably made the occasional excursion to the principal’s office for a dose of the cane to set her back on the straight and narrow.

I have no idea why, out of thousands of commuters I encountered every day this particular young woman struck me as being born to be spanked.

Back in the late seventies and early eighties, during the glorious heyday of Janus and Kane there was one model who I always thought had gone into the spanking-trade by vocation. She featured in a number of photo-shoots and several films produced by Gatisle Ltd. I have no idea of her real name but she featured variously as Lindy, Penelope and other popular spankette pseudonyms. She seemed to emanate a mystical aura that she really needed to get the spankings and canings for her own good.

Now in these pictures she is at admittedly something of a disadvantage as she already knows that she is about to take a trip over the knee. However, I am convinced that even if you encountered her walking down the street in civilian clothes it would immediately occur to any warm-blooded spanko that this was a gal who would always benefit from a damn good spanking. Draw your own conclusions. 

By the way I noticed that several of the links to older posts didn’t work properly due to a vagary of HTML coding so I have fixed all the links and now everything works as advertised. Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Some More European Spankings

Following on from yesterdays post I was pleased to discover another non-English language site today, strengher Lehrer (strict teacher). I found this on the links on the Chross Spanking Resources site so thanks to Chross. R Humphries’s German is little more proficient than his French but the translator tool is helpful. An all-round nice site and well worth a rummage.

Moving swiftly on to Spain for no other reason that it’s also in Europe today’s extracts from the Woody Back to School Unit saga finds the familiar bumbags of Debs Morton confronted with some new challenges when she finds herself being offered a proposal of marriage from her muscular Basque beau, Pablo.

The inspiration for this particular sequence of episodes came from an article I once read regarding an unsubstantiated claim that the famed matador Luis Miguel Dominguin threatened to spank Ava Gardner every night until she succumbed to his entreaties to marry him. Considering Ms Gardner’s reputation this claim is highly spurious as LMD would probably have been far safer in the bull-rings of Madrid than attempting to turn Ava over his knee. Nonetheless it made for good inspiration.

I hope you enjoy these rather disjointed extracts.

Pablo was recording at a cliff top studio overlooking El Vedra. Debs took advantage of the mild Catalonian winter climate to pound the beaches every morning in an effort to shed the few extra pounds she had put on over the past few weeks. In the afternoons and evenings she would sit on the floor of the studio bare-footed and cross-legged and watch as Pablo put the final touches to his new work. It was an idyllic and relaxing week.

On the evening before she was scheduled to leave they sat on the studio’s private patio, drinking rioja and throwing back Spanish oyster shooters made with a chilled but spicy gazpacho created from tomato, cucumber, red-pepper, onion, garlic and vodka.

It was nearly midnight when Pablo popped the question. Deborah was a little light-headed from wine and vodka. She giggled and called him foolish. He told her that he was serious.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she had laughed, “rock on, Pablo.”

The next thing she knew she was face down, arse up across his lap having her bottom pounded with his large hands.

“Now do you see that I am serious?” he asked when he had returned her to the upright.

Debs just gaped at him. “I’ll give it some urgent thought,” she promised.

Later Pablo invites Debs to lunch at a restaurant close to the Woody Back to School Unit. She has already has some premonition of the possible outcome of this meeting.

“Morning Ma’am,” Deborah greeted Jane Lummell. Debs was on the floor, her knees bent and her hands behind her head doing crunches.

“My, you’re enthusiastic this morning,” laughed her coach.

“I got a text from Pablo last night, he’s going to be up in the Smoke to finalize the artwork for his new CD, he wants to take me to lunch on Sunday,” said Debs cheerfully.

“Well that’s wonderful,” smiled Jane.

“Yeah,” said Debs. “We can have lunch at Monets and then I expect he’ll want to spank me.”

Jane took off her track-suit bottoms. “Why would that be?” she asked.

“I told him I’m not ready to marry him,” giggled Debs. “He says he’s going to spank me every-time we meet until I agree.”

Jane Lummell rolled her eyes. “Are you even taking his proposal seriously?”

Debs shook her head. “It’s silly, I hardly know him. Besides what do I know about being married? Since I was eleven I’ve been in boarding school, a slave to the tour and then in here. I’ve had a few boyfriends and lovers but that has hardly prepared me for a two up two down and a white picket fence.”

The two women set off at a trot. For the past seven years Jane Lummell had dedicated considerable time and energy to keeping Deborah in shape. They had grown close, so neither woman felt the least bit uncomfortable about discussing the Pablo Situation.

“I hook up with a Basque Flamenco musician and he turns out to be a raving spanko. What are the odds of that?”

“Maybe he’s not a raving spanko, he might just happen to like to spank you,” smiled Jane. “You have that effect on people.”

Debs frowned. “Do you like spanking me?” she demanded.

“It’s not a matter of like Deborah,” said Ms Lummell. “It’s more that you have this air about you that you would probably benefit from a damn good spanking.”

“Oh good fucking grief,” muttered Debs and began to accelerate.

Deborah’s spanking premonition proves to be eerily correct.

Debs hopped onto a bar-stool in the VIP bar of Monets. Oliver, the proprietor and chef, had slipped her in through a side-door so that she wouldn’t be pestered in the main dining room. She looked at her watch excitedly, in a few minutes Pablo was scheduled to arrive. She ordered a pomegranate martini.

Pablo showed Deborah the diamond ring.

She sighed. “It’s beautiful but I’ve told you darling, I’m not ready yet.”

He shrugged. “I have told you what I will do if you refuse.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve made the arrangements. Oliver says we can use his office upstairs. That way we’ll have some privacy.”

The Grand Master had given Debs dispensation to wear semi-clobber for her lunch date. She wore a white blouse and striped tie unfastened to show just a hint of cleavage. She had selected a pair of skin-tight pin-striped gaucho pants that she had tucked into a pair of distressed leather cowboy boots and a denim jacket with ‘D’ and ‘W’ embroidered on the breast pockets. She had applied subtle make-up that best showed off her open features. She wore her hair to her shoulders in a loose shag.

“Have you always been a spanko?” Debs asked.

Pablo laughed. “I had never given spanking a moment’s thought until I met you.”

“Oh,” said Deborah Morton.

Debs settled in across Pablo’s lap. They had agreed that the preliminary spanks would be delivered across the seat of her striped pants. Debs remembered from the incident in Ibiza that the buff Basque flamenco guitarist had hands like house-bricks and she wanted some time to warm into the spanking.

She felt her excitement rising as Pablo firmly maneuvered her into the correct position. He was immensely strong and it occurred to Deborah that she was absolutely incapable of making an escape even if she wanted to. With her bottom sticking up in the air she felt completely defenseless and helpless. It was a deliriously intoxicating sensation.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

French Spanking; Six du meilleur

R Humphries has always been a bit of a duffer at French but that doesn’t stop me from admiring Laurent’s work over at Le journal de la fessée (The Newspaper of Spanking if I’m not mistaken). There are plenty of videos, pictures and drawings to peruse and if you click the button in the top right hand corner you can even get a translation (not perfect but it supplies the general gist).

The Dame charged with teaching the inmates French at the Woody Back to School Unit is Mdme Diderot. Diderot you might remember was a free-thinking French philosopher and prominent figure during the Enlightenment. In contrast Mdme Diderot is a cranky cove and unlike her namesake she is singularly unenlightened.

In the extract below taken from, the soon to be published, Volume 7 – And Then He Kissed Her, Mdme Diderot demonstrates her lack of humor with regard to witty observations related to French culture on the squirming bumbags of Miss Lisa Sutton. Lisa, aka as the Minxster in the books, is a prominent character in the saga, who has an unfortunate reputation for perennial naughtiness.

Lisa’s character is loosely based on a young lady that I met through my old chum Nixdown. She was a cheerful and rambunctious cove and had a keen interest in spanking. She had an interesting back-story in so far as she is the only person I have ever met who discovered her inner spankette as a result of NOT getting the cane.

She confessed that she had been an unruly pupil at school and greatly amused me when she told me that she had spent a significant portion of her education standing in the corner. It was a tribute to her high intelligence that she went on to obtain an honors degree at a very reputable university.

One day, while still at school, she played truant with several boys. They were unfortunately caught and in her words ‘marched back to school and straight upstairs to the Headmaster’s office’. After a tedious lecture the miscreants were sent to stand in the corridor. The boys were called in one by one to be beaten. She was left until last and she was convinced that the Deputy Headmistress would be summoned to give her a caning. She recalled being very scared because she had never been caned before.

However, when her turn came to go into the study, it transpired that the boys had done the chivalrous thing and shouldered the full blame. Somehow they had persuaded the Headmaster that they had led her astray. After another unpleasant scolding she was told that she would be spared the cane and that she would be placed in detention for a week as an alternative. She told me that the cane was still lying on the desk throughout the interview and that she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

She told me that at university she had dabbled in a little hanky-spanky with several boyfriends but their efforts were generally half-hearted and had not proved as stimulating as she had expected. It wasn’t until she returned to London and met Nixdown that she fully embraced the scene.

She was an extremely liberated and experimental soul. While she was seeking full-time employment she even worked briefly at the delightful London spanking restaurant ‘School Dinners’, which, by the way, is a must visit venue for any Spanko’s who happen to be passing through the city. She often came to our local bar straight from her shift, still dressed in her St Trinian’s costume beneath her overcoat, which of course delighted RH. Sadly she quickly found a ‘proper’ job which put an end to that particular source of kinky pleasure.

I only knew her for a relatively brief time but she was beguilingly open and frank about her predilections and provided me with a shed load of inspirations to create the character of Lisa Sutton. I hope that you enjoy this extract.

Lisa Sutton was in no doubt that whops were about to come her way. She was eyeball to eyeball with Mdme Diderot, gasping for breath as the French Dame yanked her forward by the knot of her tie. Mdme was a fickle broad and was severely challenged in the humor department, particularly when it came to wise-cracks about her countrymen.

As soon as she opened her mouth Lisa realized that quoting Mark Twain’s observation that, “France has neither winter nor summer nor morals. Apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country. France has usually been governed by prostitutes,” might not have been well-received. Mdme Diderot had snatched up her cane.

She scrambled out of her seat and was about to bend herself over her desk when Mdme’s long bony arm reached out and grabbed her by the tie. Lisa had been desperately trying to avoid having to experience what the Woody Wags referred to as the ‘French Yank’.

In her youth Mdme Diderot had been considered something of a beauty. She had danced barefoot in nightclubs around the Algerian Quarter and developed a taste for Gaulloises and absinthe. She was married briefly to a refined nobleman but divorced him when he declined her invitations to handcuff him to their bed so that she could beat him with her favorite six tailed martinet. She returned to the Algerian Quarter where she found the North Africans far more amenable to her desires to mete out punition corporelle.

Corporal punishment had been officially abolished within the French school system in 1881 but many of the finer institutes circumnavigated the abolition by employing independent martinets to discipline delinquent pupils in private salons.

Mdme Diderot supplemented her generous alimony payments by establishing an agency of disciplinarians who were commissioned to fouetté over a thousand miscreants a year. It was lucrative work until one of her employees became over-zealous and Mdme was forced to close the agency down and have it on her toes with some expediency to avoid a potential spell in chokey.

Taking advantage of her degree in French Literature she crossed the channel and secured a position at an exclusive boarding school where she was delighted to find corporal punishment was still strongly encouraged. Unfortunately her liking for absinthe caused friction with the governors and she was obliged to tender her resignation. For several years she used bogus credentials to secure new positions at prestigious boarding schools. A reference from a dead French President praising her tutorial work with a fictitious daughter was particularly impressive. Nonetheless her drunken antics generally caused her to have to slink away at the dead of night to avoid being sacked.

She ended up at Dartington Manor where she was befriended by Patty Hodge who had installed herself as the Mistress of Discipline. Patty took a shine to the Parisian and would occasionally allow her to participate in her thrashing duties. Mdme Diderot had caned the backsides of both Cathryn and Cassandra Cassidy long before they were sentenced to Woodys.

When Patty was appointed Deputy Grand Dame at the Back to School unit she immediately handed Ms Lawton a copy of Mdme Diderot’s resume, supported by the usual stack of bogus credentials. Mdme was amongst the first recruits to the new Brass.

Sensibly Patty prevailed on her chum to cut back on the absinthe, particularly during the working day. It transpired that she was a natural and gifted educator. She was genuinely passionate about both the French language and her knowledge of French literature was staggering. Many of the inmates who had spoken passable French when they had started their sentences now spoke and wrote fluently. Her lectures and tutorials were generally quite popular.

However, as she was demonstrating to Lisa Sutton she could be a crabby cove. Her habit of yanking the inmates from their seats by the knot of their ties and then reeling them in across their desks was particularly unpopular. The face to face confrontations were extremely unpleasant. The Woody Wags speculated that she had secured a supply of absinthe flavored tooth-paste, her breath reeked of Gaulloises and her choice of perfume appeared to be largely influenced by the working girls on the la Rue Saint-Denis.

Once riled her sophisticated university educated accent gave way to guttural, Parisian slang. Even Lisa who was extremely fluent in French had difficulty deciphering much of Mdme’s diatribe, although she did not require any assistance translating the Dame’s persistent references to six du meilleur.

Mdme Diderot was slowly circling Lisa’s desk. She still had a tight hold on her victim’s tie and kept their faces only inches apart. Once she reached the far side of the desk she suddenly released her grip on Lisa’s tie, grabbed her by the back of the neck and unceremoniously slammed her chest down across the lid. Still holding Lisa down by the neck Mdme yanked back her skirt and sliced the cane downwards.

The Woody gals found being held down across the desk extremely undignified. However, Lisa had no time to voice her objections before her bumbags were under fire.

Unlike the other members of the Brass, Mdme had no time for meticulous set-ups. She was the only member of the Brass who did not require her victims to remove their blazers, took no practice swings and the only separation between the strokes was the time it took her to bring her arm back.

Surprisingly, her canings were remarkably effective. Lisa’s feet were stamping on the floor and her buttocks squirming wildly. Despite the speed of delivery the strokes landed safely in the sweet spot in very close proximity of each other. There was no time for the stripes to settle down, within the space of thirty seconds Lisa’s backside had been turned into a ball of fire.

She snatched back at the seat of her skirt and only barely managed to stop herself from publicly rubbing.

“Follow me,” Mdme Diderot growled and stalked back towards the front of the lecture room.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

World Class Whops

In today’s extract from the Woody Back to School Unit saga we find the beleaguered bumbags of our old friend Debs Morton in yet another disagreeable situation.

Debs disconsolately peeled off her new red blazer and hung it over the back of the chair. She bent forward at the waist and slithered her upper torso across the desk. She slid further and further over the lid of the desk until she was bent over as far as humanly possible, her hands gripping the legs of the desk close to the floor.

Pauline Gascoigne sighed. She reached forward and neatly turned back the hem of Deborah’s short black skirt. Pauline tapped the cane down on the new Deputy Red-shirts tautened bumbags to get her measure then raised her arm in the air. She had a momentary feeling of déjà vu.

When she had risen in the morning Ms Gascoigne had never imagined that history would repeat itself. Precisely twelve months earlier during the first tutorial of the previous year she had been forced to deliver a caning to another prefect, Miss Claire Brooks. Now after just thirty minutes of the formal start to the educational curriculum she had the Deputy Red-shirts bumbags in her sights.

Pauline and Debs were tight. Their friendship dated back to their schooldays at Queensgate. However, they also had a long record of disciplinary encounters.

During the year that Pauline had fulfilled the role as the President of Posh she had been forced to cane Deborah on nineteen occasions, which at the time was a school record. Nonetheless, they continued to remain friends and Pauline had dined with Deborah on the eve of her famously public arrest by the Dark Agents. When Deborah was sentenced to serve hard time at the Big House they had made a pact that their friendship would not interfere with Woody business. Deborah’s first spanking in a lecture hall was delivered with her stretched out across Pauline’s knees. Over the coming years Pauline had caned Debs a dozen times, including the infamous first ever Absolute Creaming.

Pauline Gascoigne was generally a tolerant soul. She understood that the inmates found the first week back in the lecture room’s quite difficult. The new prefects were no exception and she had accommodated a reasonable amount of levity and jocularity during the first few minutes of the lecture. Nonetheless there was work to be done and she gently chided Jojo, Debs, Nixdown and Rosemary to settle down. She was mildly irritated when Deborah continued to try to distract her chums and issued her a second verbal warning. When Debs continued to cause distractions Pauline showed her a yellow card. For the next fifteen minutes Deborah appeared to heed the warning and huddled over her books. Then, to Pauline’s dismay, for reasons après pos of nothing, Deborah rolled up a piece of silver paper and flicked it across the room in the direction of Nixdown.

Pauline sighed wearily and snatched down her cane.

Debs was defenseless. She was up on the balls of her feet, her backside in the most prominent position possible and most of her upper body was dangling over the far side of the desk. There was nothing she could do but grit her teeth and wait for all hell to break loose in her bumbags.

Debs head reared back and her mouth contorted into a silent howl as the cane sliced across her tautened bumbags.

Jojo, Nixdown and Rosemary exchanged glances. As distinguished aficionados of whops they nodded their heads sagely and silently concurred that things did not look good for their chum. The first stroke had been a genuine smoker and they knew from experience that Pauline Gascoigne wasn’t in the habit of slowing down any as a caning progressed. It was clear that when she had promised Debs that she intended to absolutely cream her she was deadly serious.

Deborah hung panting across the desk waiting for the arrival of the second swipe. She had the highest regard for Pauline’s ability with the cane and the power of the crucial and telling first stroke was all the confirmation that she required to acknowledge that she had foolishly managed to once again embroil her bumbags in a world class whopping.

Pauline flexed the cane between her hands, taking her time. She tapped the cane down and then sliced it through the air. It was another absolute scorcher and the sound of rattan rebounding off navy blue gossamer echoed around the room and out into the corridors.

In the lecture rooms all along the hallway the Dames had fallen silent as they listened to the rifle shots ricocheting down the hallway.

Debs squeezed her eyes tight. The spasms that wracked her body were positively seismic and she rather fancied that she could hear her flesh sizzling. She let her breath out in a long whistle and did her best to settle in to the rhythm of the whops.

Pauline swung the cane with grace and elegance. It whistled ominously through the air before landing with a rotund report. At the moment of scalding impact Deborah’s body jerked spastically and her leg crooked back. She slumped forward panting as the stroke started its ricocheting voyage around her central nervous system, electrifying her from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes. All the while the pain of the stripe across her bottom was intensifying towards a crescendo, making her buttocks squirm and twitch. Pauline was leaving thirty seconds between strokes to allow Deborah to fully appreciate the amalgamation of the effects.

Debs licked her lips and steadied herself as the wave of pain subsided slightly. She gritted her teeth and braced herself and waited for the arrival of the next world class whop.

Deborah’s chums watched in awe. There was no question that they were witnessing a consummate performance by both participants. It was clear that Debs was receiving an extremely sound thrashing but she had put it up and was keeping it up. Not that she had a lot of choice; she was so far over the desk that her backside was naturally teed up to perfection. Nonetheless, aside from the odd flick of an ankle and a twitch and squirm of her buttocks she was showing no sign of the terrible discomfort she must be in.

Pauline took a deep breath and stepped in. She was pleased with the way the beating was progressing. There was no question that thrashing the new Deputy Red-shirt on the first formal day of the year was an extremely serious business. She had no concerns about completing the paperwork and was confident that Deborah would concur that the caning was justified and carried out in the most professional of manners. She carefully took her measure, she was determined there would be no mistakes.

Delivered perfectly across the center of the sweet spot it almost raised Debs heels clean out of her shoes.

While she waited for Debs to experience the majesty of the whop Pauline Gascoigne adjusted her stance, setting herself up at a slight angle.

Debs did her best to collect herself. Five down and one to go and she knew that things were just about to get a whole lot tougher. She felt as if she had been thoroughly smoked and was just about to be finished off on the grill. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the closer.

By any standards it was a world class whop. A perfectly delivered five stroke that sliced diagonally across the previous five stripes to produce a five-bar gate. Deborah’s shoulders shuddered and her head shook from side to side. The pain was excruciating but she gripped the legs of the desk with all her strength and clenched her teeth tightly. “It will pass! It will pass!” she told herself as the waves of agony almost overwhelmed her. She hung her head down and tried to catch her breath. It was over.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Is Ms Harry a Secret Spankette?

Of course we all remember the band Blondie and the iconoclastic lead singer Debbie Harry who emerged from the New York KBGB’s punk scene in the 1970’s and went on to take the world by storm during the early part of the next decade. Everyone knew that Ms Harry was an in your face, up-front Ladette but who knew that she was a secret spankette?

I found these pictures on a public domain web-site but apart from the watermark it is hard to give the correct accreditation but would be more than happy to acknowledge the owner. In the meantime … here she is … the original Ladette … Ms Debbie Harry.

Family matter’s currently prevail over blogging but Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

The Skin-Sucking Spatula and Good Uses for Miscellaneous Kitchen Utensils

For a resourceful spanko the ordinary household kitchen is an often over-looked treasure trove of spanking toys. I was first alerted to this potential plethora of play-things by a reader’s letter in a journal catering to matters regarding our particular tastes.

In this letter a young newly-wed complained (or boasted) that failures in the kitchen often resulted in a trip over her husband’s knee for a spanking with a wooden spoon. At the time I was still living at home and the kitchen was very much my mother’s domain. Nonetheless, when nobody was about the ever inquisitive R Humphries paid a visit to test out the wares.

I located a long-handled Mrs Beaton spoon and tried it out by whapping it down on my left hand. Why do we do that? It’s nuts! After leaving a large red burn mark on my palm I concluded that there was scope for future investigation but that it would be prudent to continue any further experimentations on the specie so aptly described as being ‘born broad of beam and perfectly designed for absorbing six of the best’.

Over the years My Beloved Jojo and I have accumulated a number of treasures including a Peruvian Spoon from the Northern Andes that is perfect for detailed over the knee work and a particular, very cheap spatula that Jojo insists seems to weld to her bum upon contact and feels as if it sucks a layer of skin off as it is withdrawn.

In the following extract from the soon to be published Volume 10 – The Grand Finale Jojo and her best chum Nixdown face off in the semi-final of the Great Spank-off and their resolve is sorely tested by an array of kitchen utensils. Enjoy and if you like the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY the BOOKS … lol.

On Friday evening the Grand Master invited the four remaining spank-off contestants for a fancy meal in town. Mr Humphries bought Jojo a beautiful rust colored dress, a distressed denim jacket and some funky-fringed suede boots especially for the occasion. She liked the way outfit complimented her huge blue eyes and vivid red hair and she proudly threaded her arm through her beau’s as they entered the restaurant. Not to be outdone the other gals had excitedly donned their swankiest modes and every head in the room turned as the four beauties were escorted to their flower-laden table.

The Bounder had spent the whole week taking a myriad of complex bets; she had been so busy that she had been caned twice for not attending to her studies. Bernadette had given Jojo a slight edge over Nix and had made Lady Vix the clear favorite to end Cassie’s run. The seeding had provoked much debate and while the Grand Master poured them champagne and fed them oysters the gals merried themselves by teasing one another about their prospects in the up coming bouts.

Despite the competitiveness between the four chums there was an absence of bitchiness during the over dinner banter. As Nix squiffily pointed out, in full earshot of a shocked waiter, win or lose there was only one thing certain and that was that there was going to be four very hot bottoms by the end of the following night’s extravaganza.

The Great Hall filled quickly. Bernadette Summers Enterprises was selling front row seats on a first come first served basis and for a small fee had enlisted Rachel Cox, Claire Brooks and Amanda San Pierre to keep order in the queue.

The Gardiner Twins had again been recruited to take any last minute bets, and Heidi Alexander and Linda Ash were offering trays of drinks and nibbles to the gals as they waited in line to buy their tickets.

The excitement mounted as the gals hurried through the doors and expectantly took their seats. The Woody gals were looking forward to a fine night of whopping.

Jojo flinched as the wooden spatula landed slap bang on the middle of her arse. This was a tough start to Wooden Saturday. Momentarily the utensil seemed to fuse with her skin, taking a layer of flesh with it as it retracted. Jojo had been spanked with the wooden spatula on several occasions and was familiar with its gruesome sting. However, every time the Domestic Science instructor had put her over her knee she had at least been extended the protection of her (albeit threadbare) bumbags. She was completely unprepared for the flesh burning effects of the wooden spatula on her bare bottom.

Mr Humphries had hit upon the idea of Wooden Saturday during a routine staff review with the Domestic Science instructor. While they were discussing Dotty Hammell’s disciplinary record he noticed that she may not be the most prolific disciplinarian on the staff but she was certainly amongst the most ingenious. He was greatly amused by the variety of kitchen implements she had applied to the backsides of delinquent kitchen staff.

“Hmm …” he thought to himself, “I’m going to cook me some arse,” and headed for the kitchen.

Jojo’s arse was certainly cooking. Every sharp slap of the spatula seemed to singe her skin but she was determined to lie still, however much she wanted to hop up. She wanted Nix to be as unprepared as she had been when that first important slap made impact.

Mr Humphries spanked his lover with consummate authority. He had her well tucked in; his left hand around her waist, just above the waistline of her pleated skirt, with her bottom perched up proud in the perfect spanking configuration. Smacking her bottom with crisp wristy blows on alternate cheeks and allowing a goodly burn-in period between smacks. By the time he had given her a full dozen her backside looked like grilled lobster and she needed little encouragement to dismount from his lap and put considerable distance between her and the spatula.

“Jesus H Christ,” breathed Nixdown as the first flames licked her arse. Like Jojo, Nix had been known to goof off when on kitchen duty and on one occasion had had the opportunity to familiarize herself with the spatula, but also like Jojo six whaps on the bumbags from Ms Hammell hardly prepared her for a full blooded bare bottom assault from Mr Humphries. With the advantage of having nothing to hide Nix availed of the opportunity to get lively. She wriggled and squirmed in the Grand Master’s lap and kicked her legs energetically. Mr Humphries held her down firmly and continued the whapping without allowing himself to be distracted by Nix’s gymnastics.

After the Grand Master had helped her to her feet Nicola Jane and Jojo exchanged apprehensive glances. Things clearly did not bode well for their poor beleaguered bums.

For his next trick Mr Humphries introduced a wooden spoon into the proceedings. As Joanna quickly found out this was not the ordinary off the shelf wooden spoon that Ms Hammell occasionally beat her with, the spoon that he produced had been custom made from an especially unforgiving wood found in the upper Andes. The well-formed head had a flattened bottom and packed plenty of punch. It was a spoon ideally suited for repetition work, which Mr Humphries demonstrated to excellent effect, targeting the sweet spot of Jojo’s luscious arse and drubbing it six times in quick succession first on one cheek then turning his attention to the other. Jojo felt no necessity to lie still through this bombardment and she soon found herself nose to the wood work with her blouse out of her skirt and her feet unable to touch the floor.

Nixdown tried to feign nonchalance.

“We’re gonna be sniffin’ a lot of floor tonight,” she grinned as Jojo hobbled away from the Grand Master. But no sooner had Mr Humphries got busy with her backside her nonchalance visibly evaporated and the extent of her agitation became evident. Nix was a gal who liked having her bottom smacked but she found nothing entertaining or sensual about being whapped with kitchen utensils. The constant pounding on the same spot was excruciating and she had to pluck up all her courage to keep from springing out of Mr Humphries’ lap. Somehow she managed to keep her head down and her bottom in the firing line but every smack was draining her resolve and confidence.

The paying punters had paid substantial bucks to watch the facility’s closest chums competing against each other. Nix had won the respect of the whole unit with her remarkable victories over the Bounder and Debs but the consensus of opinion was that she would meet her match in the legendary Jojo.

As reigning All-Time Big BUTT Joanna Heyworth was the idol of many of the inmates of the Woody Back to School unit; beautiful, talented, charming, witty and unbelievably naughty. She was an icon and inspiration to the mega-minxes.

The first two spankings had been extremely taxing and Jojo and Nix exchanged nervous glances as they waited for Mr Humphries to produce his next instrument.

During his forage into the kitchens Mr Humphries had come across a number of utensils that he thought might be appropriate for Wooden Saturday. One being a small-headed spoon that he felt might be appropriate for detailed work. He had Jojo across his knee for an experimental session and had been greatly enthused by the results. Jojo agreed that when he worked inside her thighs and up and down her crack she found the experience highly erotic; especially when he rapped her pooper and sent tingling sensations throughout her nether regions. However, Jojo was unambiguous in her objections to including detailed work in the Spank-off. It was one thing having one’s bottom bared in front of a horde of screaming inmates but quite another having your cheeks spread apart to display your most intimate body parts. Besides, she told him, she was not keen at all on him doing detailed work on Nix or Vix or Cassie. Mr Humphries was disappointed but he was sympathetic to her entreaties and had summonsed Dotty Hammell to the kitchen to seek out an alternative utensil.

As Jojo approached him he produced his alternative. Ms Hammell had found a flapjack flipper tucked away in a drawer. The handcrafted flipper was carved from the downed limbs of the hardwoods found in the North West of the United States and was about thirteen inches long and as thick as a finger. Its long barked handle was attached to a beautifully grained circular head.

“Holy shit!” Dotty had exclaimed. “Now this will make them sit up and take notice!”

“Holy shit,” breathed Jojo. The flapjack flipper came as a complete surprise. She thought she was familiar with every lethal weapon in the Grand Master’s artillery, but she had seen neither hide nor hair of this bad boy until it was displayed to the braying audience.

“Holy shit,” chorused Nix, Vix and Cassie as they watched the long handled flipper whap down on their chum’s bottom.

Mr Humphries was impressed with the satisfyingly rotund sound of his new toy making impact with his favorite target. He was also impressed how large an area of Jojo’s bum was covered by a single slap of the large circular head. He raised the flipper and brought it down with a resounding crack on her left cheek, then raised it in the air again and brought it down on her right cheek with the unerring accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. The sheer weight of the hard unyielding wood made Jojo feel as though she was being pressed down against the Grand Master’s legs. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Even on a virgin arse it would have been considered a long hard spanking, so on a hot tender bum the effects were almost unbearable.

Jojo’s hindquarters wriggled convulsively under the assault, her bottom felt that it had burst into inextinguishable flames. Her red hair swayed, her fists pummeled the stage and her legs kicked in wild abandon but still she didn’t howl. Mr Humphries completed the dozen with two ear-splitting strikes. Jojo hung limply across the Grand Master’s knee, her hands in her face and her shoulders heaving.

Down on the floor of the Great Hall the Bounder was taking spot bets. It seemed inconceivable to most of the gals that Nixdown was going to make it through the dozen and the Bounder had a mitt full of dosh taking bets on how long she would last. The Minxster was feverishly entering the bets in the Bounder’s ledger.

Nicola Jane Nixon approached the Grand Master with a woebegone look on her face. Nix had watched her dearest chum being spanked with the flapjack flipper with an increasing sense of foreboding. She considered herself tough and during her regular trysts with Penny Ann in the stables she had experimented widely with endurance spankings. Nonetheless as she had watched Jojo’s bum enlarging by the spank she did not feel in the least bit tough and she had begun to feel increasingly weak and vulnerable.

Jojo looked at her forlorn friend.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

“I gotta try,” Nicola Jane whispered back.

Nix was certainly trying. Despite the fact that tears were falling freely down her cheeks and that her backside was fast being converted into a furnace she stayed over the Grand Master’s knee.

Jojo watched with increasing trepidation as her chum passed the halfway mark; if Nix toughed it out Jojo would be left with the terrible dilemma of choosing between the spatula, the spoon or the menacing flipper.

The seventh, eighth and ninth spanks landed in quick succession and still Nix stayed down. The tenth looked like it had nailed her as she pushed herself upwards momentarily, but she sunk back into position. She howled as the eleventh burned down but still stayed down.

CRACK! The flipper rebounded off Nixdown’s tiny arse. With a holler and a whoop she exited Mr Humphries’s lap but somehow kept from rubbing, keeping her knotted fists pressed to the sides of her head.

The gals in the audience were in shock and there was a deathly hush in the hall. Thanks to Nix the Bounder had made a clean sweep, taking plenty of tuck money from the disbelieving punters.

Jojo’s mind was racing. Her butt burned unbelievably but she knew she could continue, but the question was with what. Should she choose the flesh sizzling spatula, the deep burn of the spoon repeatedly whapping the same spot or the booming crashes of the flipper.

Jojo looked across at Nix with genuine concern. Nicola Jane Nixon took enormous pride in her appearance. Her uniform was always pristine, her well-heeled chaps provided her with the necessary quids to purchase new clobber at the slightest signs of wear and tear. But now her blouse was hanging out of her skirt, her tie was skew-whiff and one of her socks was down around her ankle. Jojo took a deep breath. “I’ll take six with the spatula,” she said quietly.

The gals in the hall watched in suspenseful silence as Nix wrestled with the proposal. She looked totally disorientated. Mr Humphries encouraged her to take her time. She hopped from foot to foot, rubbing her eyes on the cuffs of her blouse. Six with the spatula was a dreadful proposition but she truly believed she could endure them. However, she was also pretty sure that Jojo could outlast her and she desperately wanted to spare her chum from any more suffering than necessary.

Slowly she shook her head, “I’m done,” she said tearfully.

The Grand Master called an intermission. Jojo and Nix hugged and comforted each other. Jojo’s ears were still ringing from the sharp explosive slap of the winning swipe of the spatula.

“Holy shit!” grumbled Jojo as she gratefully accepted an ice cold glass of champagne from Heidi Alexander, “that is some evil shit! Where on earth did he come up with a flapjack flipper?”

Nix shook her head incredulously. “Jojo, I have to tell you but sometimes I think that man of yours is fucking barking!”

Penelope Ann had come back stage to put cream on Nix’s arse and the Grand Master had taken Jojo into an anteroom to help her rub and kiss her bum better.

Lady Victoria and Cassie Cassy paced backstage tensely.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s!You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Cool Cat and the Manifesto of Mega-Minxdom

It is always a pleasure to discover new sites and more kindred spirits. I was recently introduced to the witty, tongue-in-cheek, yet erudite observations of Dante d’Amore over at Dante’s Paradiso … well worth a rummage.

One of the many wonderful pleasures of developing the Woody Back to School Unit saga has been the opportunity to develop a wide array of diverse characters. Despite the necessary legal disclaimers some of the characters were inspired by real-life folks that I have encountered both on the spanking scene and in vanilla life. Others are simply inspired by a picture or an article or a reader’s letter in the specialist magazines that service tastes of our persuasion.

Cathryn ‘Cat’ Cassidy is a major protagonist in the stories. She was the author of the ‘Manifesto of Mega-Minxdom’ and is the spiritual leader of the subterranean cult known as the Mega-minxes. Her character simply evolved from these two pictures that appeared in the Reader’s Letters section of an old Janus. That’s the writing process.

Cat epitomizes the spirit of the Woody Gals in the stories. Despite being sentenced to spend seven years at the austere Woody Back to School Unit, without the possibility of parole, Cat remains wild, free-spirited, flamboyant and undaunted. Rather than defying rules by rebellious, pouty, sullen or bratty behavior she merely ignores them and be damned with the consequences.

In the following extract from Volume 2 – Operation Scorched Arse Cat demonstrates her languid disdain for the system that governs her life. Enjoy and if you like the extract BUY the BOOKS … lol.

Cathryn was dressed in her prefect’s garb of block red blazer with black piping around the border, white blouse, red tie and a dark pleated skirt. She wore a boater on her head at a jaunty angle.

“What is it this time Cassidy?” asked Ms Lawton.

“Curfew violation apparently,” drawled Cat with a nonchalant shrug. “Patty says I didn’t fill out some new fangled paperwork so she sent me up for whops.”

“That is Ms Hodge to you, Cassidy,” said the Grand Dame.

“Oh yeah, well whatever,” said Cat indifferently.

Ms Lawton twitched her nose suspiciously. “Have you been drinking, Cassidy?” she asked.

“Naw, well yeah, but not drinking exactly, I had a couple of glasses of white wine, nothing serious. What are you going to do? Flog me?” said Cat in the same unconcerned drawl.

“I will certainly be considering that option,” snapped the Grand Dame.

Cathryn rolled her eyes.

Ms Lawton scowled at the prefect. “Raise your skirt,” she said curtly.

“Oh good grief,” said Cat. She reached under her skirt and extracted a packet of Marlboro Lights from the elastic waistband of her bumbags. “Are these what you’re looking for?” she asked and tossed them on the desk.

“Your attitude is not helping you,” said Ms Lawton. “You still have the remainder of the year before you complete the program and I can still flunk you. You know that alcohol and cigarettes are forbidden but you continue to flaunt the rules.”

“Look Ma’am,” said Cat. “I’m a prefect; I was out in town on a legitimate pass. I had a couple of scoops and I would have stashed the fags when I got back. If Patty, oops, Ms Hodge, hadn’t introduced some new and unannounced protocol then nobody would be any the wiser.”

Ms Lawton sighed. She always found dealing with Cathryn most disconcerting. During her years in Military Intelligence she had been trained to interrogate terrorists and enemies of the state. She was considered a master practitioner of the craft. However, in the nearly seven years that she had been responsible for overseeing Cathryn’s social rehabilitation she had never managed to satisfactorily penetrate Cat’s inner psyche.

It was not that Cathryn was devious or disingenuous. In fact quite the opposite, she was startling forthright and straight-forward. She wasn’t rude or arrogant or even willfully disobedient. She merely seemed to have a total disregard for rules or convention and seemed quite content to suffer any consequences that might arise.

The Grand Dame wasn’t naïve. She was aware that the inmates had stashes of booze and cigarettes secreted all over the facility. She occasionally instituted searches but the grounds were simply too large to police adequately. She had nothing in principle against drinking or smoking but had found in the early years of the unit’s history a policy of moderation was impossible to enforce so she had implemented a total prohibition.

Ms Lawton looked over at Cathryn. In many ways the prefect was at the very heart of her problem. It was Cat after all who had authored the subversive manifesto of mega-minxdom and had rallied the inmates into the irksome cult. Nonetheless, the Grand Dame had considerable respect for Cathryn. She had got her hands on a bootleg copy of the doctrine and had been impressed by its witty and sophisticated articulation. She was also aware of Patty’s deep dislike for Cat.

“What new fangled paperwork?” asked Ms Lawton.

Cathryn shrugged. “I dunno,” she drawled. “I handed in my pass when I came back to the facility and then I got a summons. Patty, oh shit, Ms Hodge, told me that my paperwork was invalid and sent me over to see you, so here I am.”

Ms Lawton leaned back in her chair thoughtfully. “Alright Cassidy,” she said finally, “Please step out onto the landing and assume the position. I’d like to look into this a little further.”

Ms Lawton studied the two forms. “I must confess, I’m not sure I see the difference, Patricia,” she told her deputy. “I mean they are laid out a little differently but they seem to contain the same information.”

Patty narrowed her eyes. “As a member of the Elite Cassidy is supposed to keep abreast of all of the rules, regulations and protocols,” she snapped. “If she was doing her job properly she would know which form is currently in use. This is a typical example of her irresponsible attitude to her responsibilities as a prefect.”

“But Ms Hammell signed the town pass,” observed the Grand Dame. “That at least lends it some legitimacy.”

“Dotty Hammell is a damned liberal,” snorted Patty.

“Alright Patty leave it with me and send Cassidy in on your way out,” sighed Susan Lawton.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

The Detention Room

The authors of the Lowewood Academy blog-page should be put in immediate detention! Just Joking! Actually I was very sorry to learn that the Lowewood Academy blog-page has elected to close its doors. As a writer I appreciate the time and effort the participants dedicated to the project. The site featured some great and inventive writing so congratulations to all who contributed.

But niftily segueing into the subjects of detention, anybody who was subjected to this tedious institution will be astounded by the good humor shown by the Priscilla and Nicola in this picture from one of the all-time classic Janus publications (Janus Number 23, which I purchased for the princely sum of Five Pounds back in the day), although if studied closely you can see that they have two biros (pens) taped together that will speed up the process of writing lines and are probably giggling over their success at pulling a fast one.

I don’t know whether writing lines translates internationally but back in the day we were often made to stay behind after school to sit in a damp form-room to write repetitively (anywhere from 50 to 250 times) such nonsense as “My behavior in class must always be impeccable”. Tedious stuff and although I have no personal inclination to being beaten with whippy sticks getting the cane was always more preferable than boring detentions.

Eventually as demonstrated in this little montage Prissy and Nicola succumb to the temptations of minxing and end up getting the comeuppance that they should have got in the first place.

Sadly work continues to inconvenience me but please rummage around the site. If you like the many free extracts from my saga go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Take Them Up and Have Them Thrashed and a Drenching for Debs

Work is the bane of the spanking man, so R Humphries has been indisposed with unreasonable requests from his paying clients. However, I thought I’d post another extract from the Woody Back to School Unit saga for, hopefully, your enjoyment and entertainment.

This extract briefly mentions the Amazonian Rastafarian Butcher Twins. The characters of Patsy and Lindsay Butcher were inspired by the rather attractive young lady featured in the pictures below.

In the following extract from the soon to be published Volume 22 – The Man from Berlin the unfortunate recipient of the featured spanking is the ever beleaguered Debs Morton. It seems that every extract I select seems to feature the tautened bumbags of Debs getting a dusting. Enjoy and if you like the extract BUY THE BOOKS … lol.

During her second year as an inmate of the Woody Back to School unit Deborah Morton suffered the first of several ignominious chastisements that would form part of Woody lore. The incident started when a minor fracas broke out in the recreation ground over a game of poker.

“Cheater! Cheater!” Patsy Butcher was shouting at her twin sister Lindsey.

Lindsey just hooted with laughter and reached forward to scoop up the pot that her three queens and two aces had earned her.

Patsy leaped forward and pushed her sister away from the pot.

“Cheat! You cheated,” she said angrily.

Lindsey shoved her sister backwards and soon a low level mêlée ensued involving scratching and hair-pulling. As usual any such excitement attracted a crowd and by the time Elizabeth Lancelot, the Red-shirt de jour, and the duty prefects arrived the two sisters were surrounded by whooping inmates, cheering and whistling.

“Scrap! Scrap!” the inmates shouted excitedly. “Bundle!”

Elizabeth and the pre’s pushed their way through the crowd and separated the two squabbling cardsharps.

Once the prefects had the twins under control Liz made arrangements for the sisters to be escorted upstairs to Ms Lawton’s office. The twins glared at each other sullenly. They both knew that at a minimum they faced the prospect of a bare bender for unruly behavior. Worst still, if the Grand Dame was in a bad mood they might be sentenced to a punishment flogging for scrapping.

“Cheater,” hissed Patsy angrily.

“Bad loser!” snarled Lindsey.

“Enough already,” said Elizabeth wearily. “Take them up and have them thrashed.”

As the crowd separated, to allow the twins to be led away, Deborah Morton chose to pipe in with a pithy quip.

The exact content of the wisecrack is long forgotten but Liz’s reaction was unforgettable. She grabbed Deborah by the wrist, dragged her across to the fountain in the middle of the quadrangle, yanked her across her knee, flipped back the skirt of her gymslip and spanked her in front of the startled inmates.

It was a brief and not particularly vigorous spanking, more an indication of the Red-shirts irritation at Deborah’s untimely and politically incorrect remark. After less than a dozen smacks Liz released Deborah and returned her to the upright.

There was a startled silence in the recreation area. The inmates had been taken by surprise by the instantaneous retribution meted out by the Red-shirt. Even Elizabeth looked slightly taken aback. Her reaction had been purely instinctive and the spanking had been over and done with before she had time to gather her thoughts.

Suddenly, Deborah Morton began to giggle.

Momentarily Elizabeth gaped at the gal who appeared to be laughing in her face.

There are two schools of thought regarding Deborah Morton’s behavior.

Her defenders say that breaking into a fit of giggles was nothing more than an embarrassed reaction to having just received an unprecedented public spanking. Debs decriers insist that it was a typically, brazen piece of self-publicizing showboating.

Whatever the answer, Liz’s response to Debs openly giggling in her face was swift.

The Red-shirt span Deborah around and thrust her down across the rim of the fountain.

“Hey!” yelled Deborah, “what the fuck are you doing?”

Elizabeth had yanked Debs so far over the fountain that both her arms were into the drink up to her elbows and with her nose only inches from the surface the cascading fountain water was splashing in her face and soaking her hair.

“Lemme go you lunatic,” hollered Debs. She vainly tried to struggle free but her feet were several inches from the ground and Liz had a firm hand pressing down on her neck. She was defenseless.

Elizabeth pointed at a nearby gaping rubbernecker.

”Give me your plimsoll,” she demanded.

Debs legs were kicking frantically. If being unceremoniously thrust over the fountain’s edge wasn’t bad enough she was now thoroughly drenched.

“Lemme go I tell you,” spluttered Debs as she desperately tried to keep her head above water.

The Red-shirt had no intention of letting Debs go. Once equipped with the plimsoll Liz Lancelot flipped back the skirt of Deborah’s gymslip and took aim.

The sound of the rubber-soled plimsoll colliding with Deborah’s squirming bumbags echoed around the cloisters.

The impact pushed Debs even further forward and she barely managed to keep herself from being totally dunked.

The Red-shirt proceeded to deliver a very hearty slippering. The inmates watched in mesmerized silence. They had witnessed some unusual punishments during their internments but the sight of Debs sprawled helplessly over the fountain was a first.

Liz Lancelot’s arm pumped up and down. She was not satisfied with giving Debs the traditional six, she continued on until she had given her a dozen. Then just when it looked like she was about to release her grip on Deborah’s neck she took aim one last time and slammed the plimsoll down ferociously. It was a cracking strike and the sound reverberated around the compound.

When she was yanked back to her feet Deborah Morton did not feel the least inclined to giggle. She was drenched. The sleeves of her blouse and blazer were dripping wet and her wavy hair was slickened straight. She stared at Elizabeth in wide-eyed astonishment as if she was unable to quite grasp what had just transpired. Her backside was throbbing furiously and felt as if it had swollen to the size of a pair of cantaloupes.

Elizabeth handed back the plimsoll she had requisitioned and took a firm hold of Deborah’s arm just above the elbow.

“Come with me,” the Red-shirt said firmly.

Debs face was a picture as she was led from the recreation area. Her cheeks had turned a bright crimson; she averted her eyes from her fellow inmates and bowed her head slightly.

As Debs was led away the other inmates began an immediate post-mortem.

“I didn’t think Liz had it in her,” said Jojo.

Nixdown nodded her agreement, “still waters run deep,” she responded.

“Poor Debs,” groaned Rosemary, “she must be just mortified.”

“Mortified my arse,” said the ever-cynical Nixdown. “You know our Debs; she loves to make a splash.”

Debs trudged miserably through the corridors. Liz still had a tight grip on her arm. Deborah felt like a drowned rat with a sore bottom.

They climbed the stairs that led to the Elite landing in silence. When they reached the Red-shirts private study Elizabeth opened the door and shoved Debs inside.

“Go in the bathroom and dry off,” Elizabeth told her. “Give me your punishment record book so I can post-process your ridiculous behavior.”

Deborah looked sheepish as she walked into the lecture room. “I’m sorry I’m late Ma’am,” she told Ms Gascoigne. “But I do have a note from the Red-shirt,” she said hurriedly.

Debs was relieved that she wasn’t forced to explain her late arrival to a member of the Radical Right who would have relished making her recount in detail the recent incident at the water fountain. Pauline Gascoigne merely nodded and told her to take a seat. But even the popular Economics Dame couldn’t help adding sarcastically, “and try not to squelch when you sit down.”

Deborah Morton figured it was going to be a long day.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

A Public Spanking

Although R Humphries is a die-hard lover of using the cane there is nothing more wonderfully intimate than having My Beloved Jojo draped across my knees waiting to be spanked with my hand, a wood-backed hairbrush, a paddle, tawse or a variety of kitchen utensils.

I suppose having her across my lap with her arse considerably higher than her head represents the ultimate position of submission. At the Woody Back to School Unit several members of the Brass and the Elite favor the otk position which is greatly unpopular with the inmates, who consider it undignified.

In the following extract from the soon to be published Volume 14 – Whop Junkies the ever beleaguered Debs Morton suffers the ultimate indignity of being publicly spanked in front of the assembled unit. Enjoy and if you like the extract BUY the BOOKS … lol.

Deborah Morton groaned audibly. Despite her aspirations at becoming the Annual Big BUTT the one thing she had excluded from her plans was being chucked out of assembly again.

“Morton, Phase 6, red card. Step up for goofing,” bellowed Sally Cobb.

Debs knew that she was bang to rights. She couldn’t believe that she had been unable to resist the impulse to slide the satchel of the gal seated in front of her out of her reach. It was a totally ill-conceived spontaneous action and not even that amusing.

Deborah stumbled passed the knees of her seated chums. She managed to make it to the aisle and was about to set off towards the front of the hall when Sally stepped in her way.

“You know that your collar and tie are undone don’t you, Morton?” she said gleefully. “But I’ll leave it to Patty to card you for that.”

When Deborah reached the front of the hall she took up a position between the double doors and the stage. She turned around so that she was facing the assembled inmates. She glanced up at the clock. She had perpetrated her ridiculous act almost as soon as she had arrived in the hall. This meant that she would be in her position of disgrace for almost ten minutes before the Brass arrived.

Despite holding the unit record for being evicted from the assembly hall she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious in her ignominious position. The other inmates had nothing else to do but stare at her. She did her best to feign nonchalance but she could feel that her cheeks were flushed and she couldn’t help from drumming her fingers nervously against the sides of her blazer.

It was not a great way to start the day. She was due for a mandatory twelve-stroke bare bender just for the momentary adrenalin rush of annoying another inmate. She couldn’t help but feel rather foolish.

Deborah felt a little bilious as she listened to the click and clack of the high heels of the Brass approaching. She pulled her shoulders back and stared straight ahead.

Patty and the Wart were the last to arrive. Debs heart began to pound. The two evil Dames approached her; they had smarmy grins on their faces.

The Wart went first. Her wrist was still in a bandage since she had sprained it trying to give Debs a bacon slicer. She pushed her face into Deborah’s and unleashed an unsavory ration of tongue pie. Debs had difficulty not recoiling. Aside from the odium with which she was being addressed it occurred to Deborah that the Wart might have started on the tequila slammers rather early in the day. Tongue pie and tequila was a particularly unpleasant concoction.

Once the Wart had finished venting her spleen Patty stepped up. Theatrically she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her red card.

“Morton, Phase 6,” she gloated. “Red card for zero tolerance collar and tie abuse. Book yourself an appointment for a damn good slippering from Matron in the morning.”

Although she had been expecting Patty to card her Deborah was incapable of stopping her face from turning a deep crimson.

Debs was still trying to recover some semblance of composure when the Grand Master arrived. He barely broke stride, taking her by the wrist and very calmly telling her to, “Come with me.”

Deborah’s chums watched sympathetically as she peeled off her red and black striped blazer and folded it neatly. Six months earlier Debs had screamed and cursed and bitten the Grand Masters leg when she had received her first bare bottom spanking in front of the assembled unit. Now she appeared resigned to her fate.

Mr Humphries placed a chair in the center of the stage and sat down facing the inmates. Deborah went around and stood to his right. Meekly she offered him her wrist and put up no resistance as he lowered her downwards until she was over and up.

The Grand Master waited while Deborah placed her palms down and then hand walked forward until her arms were fully stretched and shuffled her legs back so she was in a full drape. The Grand Master meticulously turned back the hem of her gymslip and the tail of her blouse and then maneuvered her bumbags down until they were concertinaed around her ankles. Mr Humphries put his left hand around her waist and pulled Deborah in tightly.

Deborah hung her head down between her outstretched arms. She was wearing her hair loose and wished that she had thought to tie it back in a scrunchy. Despite the fact she was going to be slippered for it she was glad that her collar and tie was loosened and that she could breathe easily. She braced herself and waited to be spanked.

The Grand Master raised his hand in the air and began to spank. He started slowly, spanking up one side of her bottom and back down the other, systematically delivering the smacks in series of sixes.

The first blitz took Deborah by surprise. She had been getting into the rhythm of the slow deliberate spanks, keeping her head well down and her bottom well up. Counting the spanks and chanting the Woody mantra of “its only whops, its only whops,” over and over in her head.

The sudden unexpected blitz attack destroyed her rhythm. The spanks seemed to land everywhere at a frenetic pace. Deborah Morton felt as if she had been transported to a different universe.

Debs was no longer aware of her surroundings. She no longer processed the embarrassment of being across the Grand Master’s knee with her bottom bared in front of the assembled Brass and inmates. Deborah Morton was now lost in the heart of the spanking.

Debs had lost count of the spanks. The Grand Master had followed the blitz with another set of slow spanks. It was a painstaking process and every spank was designed to steadily increase the heat fermenting in Deborah’s poor beleaguered bum.

Every now and again when she started to scrunch her body up the Grand Master would gently maneuver Deborah back into a full drape and make sure her bottom was sitting up proud.

He went into a second blitz, dozens of spanks raining down, causing her to buck and writhe and her legs to scissor spastically.

Debs lay across the Grand Master’s knee panting. Mr Humphries released his grip around Deborah’s waist. He reached down and pulled her bumbags up her legs, waiting while she raised her hips so that he could pull them up over her reddened bum. He pulled the tail of her blouse back and turned back the skirt of her gymslip before helping her to her feet.

It had been a thorough spanking. A gross of spanks bombarding her backside without relent. When she finally stood up there was no doubt from the look on her face that Deborah Morton had just received a damn good spanking.

There was a look on the face of a gal who had just been spanked that was different from that of a gal who had just been caned or strapped or slippered. It was a look of incredulity. It was as if she had just returned from some bewildering odyssey and was asking herself, “Did that really just happen to me?” and “Did you really make my bum burn this much, just with your hands?”

When a Dame took a cane down from the hook by the blackboard or pulled a tawse from the desk drawer there was nothing much left to the imagination. When she bent over a gal pretty well knew what she was going into, and when it was over she would rely on her bravado to hide the pain and anguish she was experiencing.

A long, hot hand spanking was different. Partly it was the over the knee position, but that was not all of it. The otk position was favored by several of the Dames and universally despised by the inmates. Nonetheless trips across Dotty Hammell, Jane Lummell or Katie Beck’s lap were thankfully brief and the results of being whapped with a crop, slipper or a kitchen utensil were predictably sharp.

A spanking was a different animal. Stretched out across a lap having her bottom smacked a gal couldn’t count off the strokes and know when it would be over. It was intimate, the feeling of flesh on flesh, not at all like being whapped with a cane or a slipper. A gal was not just being punished; she was being personally chastised. It was the ultimate recognition to a gal that she was truly in disgrace and the longer and juicier the spanking the more disgraced she would feel.

Deborah gaped at the Grand Master with her mouth open. She had no idea how many spanks he had given her, just that she seemed to have been on a voyage of eternity. Salvo after salvo burning her flesh, the Grand Master pulling her back in as she struggled to escape the relentless bombardment. She had wanted to beg him to stop but had willed herself to keep quiet. She had even forgotten that she was having her bare bottom smacked in front of the other eighty-three inmates of the facility and fourteen members of the Brass. Even when he let her up she seemed unaware of her surroundings just gaping at the Grand Master with that incredulous look on her face.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Baby, You Were Born to Cane

Congratulations to Garth over at Behind the Barred Window on his first blogging anniversary and my thanks for his generous reference to our site; it’s always nice to get an acknowledgement from a fellow scribe. Speaking of which, I was able to negotiate a continued cut-price sale at the Woodettes Storefront and hopefully I’ll be making several more volumes available in the next few weeks. A useful hint … if you visit the storefront and click on the book title you get TWO FREE chapters to preview … hopefully you’ll fall in love with the characters and just feel compelled to BUY THE BOOKS … lol.

Meanwhile here’s another extract, this time from the soon to be published Volume 18, Born to Cane … enjoy.

Patty Hodge lingered outside the door of the study shared by Debs Morton and Rosemary Booker. It was frustrating. For the past two weeks she had made it her nightly ritual to sneak onto the landing in the hopes of hearing them gabbing, goofing, larking or pranking. She had come up empty and was beginning to give up hope. She looked at her watch. It would be a full ten minutes before the Dorm Raider, Claire Brooks, returned for her next check-up on the landing. Patty wrung her hands and prayed to her Whops Deity.

Deborah Morton eyes blinked open as Claire flashed her torch into the room. As usual Debs had turned in early so she would be fresh for her morning run. Rosemary had spent most of the evening tapping away on her laptop, chatting with her on-line lothario, the Silver Fox.

Debs heard the door shut behind the Dorm Raider and closed her eyes again.

“Pssssst, are you awake Debs?” whispered Rosemary through the darkness.

“No,” Debs whispered back. “Go to sleep.”

“I want to show you something,” hissed Rosemary, “you’ll laugh your bumbags off.”

Debs groaned quietly. She knew Rosemary would persist in pestering her. Fortunately they were in a safe period, Claire wouldn’t return for at least ten minutes so there was no danger of whops. Debs swung her legs off the bed and padded barefoot across the room.

“What is it?” she hissed.

Rosemary opened the laptop and clicked on an icon. She scrolled down through her conversation with the Silver Fox.

He had written … After you sent me those pictures of your voluptuous behind I purchased a cane through Bernadette Summers Enterprises. I hope that you will let me experiment on your bumbags when we meet next month.

“Rosie!” squealed Debs. “You sent him pictures? Are you fucking barking?”

Deborah Morton gaped incredulously as the door burst open. The last person she expected to see was Patty Hodge.

“Gotcha!” squealed the Deputy Grand Dame with delight.

Deborah Morton placed her pillow over the end of the bed and stretched herself out.

Behind her Patty was barking into her cell-phone. “Brooks, get your scrawny little arse up to the Phase 6 landing, and make it sharpish; I need you to beat Morton and Booker.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am,” replied Claire, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m down on the third phase landing and I was just about to cane Cassandra Cassidy when you called. She’s ready and primed, I think I should proceed.”

Patty grinned. “Oh take your time then Brooks,” she cackled. “These two aren’t going anywhere.”

Patty used the delay to vent her spleen on Deborah. Debs was at distinct disadvantage. Bent across the end of the bed with her arse higher than her head was hardly a position conducive to putting up a show of defiance or contempt. She was forced to bury her face in the duvet and try to shut out the spiteful diatribe.

“This is going to be so much fun,” cackled Patty, wringing her hands with glee.

“I’m not going to cane them without cause,” said Claire emphatically. “I was on another landing executing my duties. I need evidence.”

Patty grinned and pulled out her cell-phone. She showed Claire a time-dated snap of Debs and Rosemary standing beside the laptop computer with their hands on their heads. The photograph was digitally timed several minutes after Claire had conducted her check of the study.

Claire sighed. “With all due respect Ma’am, what were you doing here?”

“I’m preparing another performance review of your behaviors,” Patty said imperiously. “I am going to challenge your appointment as Captain of the Blue House on the grounds of your abysmal performance as Dorm Raider. I wanted to be fair on you, so I decided that I should monitor your behavior before I accused you of dereliction of duty.”

Claire glared at Patty. Patty just grinned wolfishly.

“I am going to photograph the beatings,” she told Claire. “If you try to cut them any slack and pull the strokes I’m going to have you flogged. Remember Brooks every picture tells a story.”

Deborah Morton gritted her teeth. She heard the cane slicing across Rosemary’s tautened jimjams. Under different circumstances Debs impending caning could have been cause for celebration. After nearly six spectacular years of goofing, gabbing, larking and pranking she was about to move into joint second place on the All-Time Hall of Shame. However, Patty Hodge had managed to sabotage the momentous occasion.

Debs and Rosemary had been forced to remain ignominiously bent over their beds for a full ten minutes before Claire had arrived. Patty had used the time fruitfully to taunt and berate Deborah in a most disagreeable manner. To add insult to injury Patty had taken several photographs of Deborah’s upturned backside on her cell-phone camera. Deborah’s eyes burned with humiliation.

“It’s only whops, it’s only whops,” chanted Rosemary as the effects of the first stroke imploded through her central nervous system. The sensation was excruciating, every nerve ending from her nose to her toes seemed to be electrified. Rosemary Booker was impressed and alarmed at the same time.

For almost the whole year Rosemary had managed to avoid a run-in with Claire Brooks’s cane. When Deborah Morton had proclaimed Claire as the new whop goddess Rosemary had taken notice. She had considerable faith in Deborah’s judgment in such matters.

The second stroke whistled through the air, slicing across Rosemary’s curvaceous buttocks with the power and accuracy of a heat seeking missile. Rosie gasped. With just two down and four still to go Rosemary Booker fancied that she was in for quite a workout.

Patty grinned and took photographs. She hated Claire with a passion but she couldn’t help but be impressed. Claire swung the cane with an effortless grace. The slow backswing was deceptive. Patty Hodge who studied such matters knew that the secret of delivering a world class whopping was in the finish. As Claire completed each stroke she flicked her wrist at the last moment accelerating the cane to Mach One. The sound of the cane rebounding off Rosemary’s jimjams echoed around the room.

Rosemary lay panting across the bed. She felt quite giddy. Her first outing with Claire’s cane had been memorable. Rosemary Booker guessed that she might have been whopped harder but she couldn’t for the life her remember when.

Deborah Morton’s body jerked spastically, her leg scissored back and she threw her head back and let out a silent howl. Patty Hodge took a photograph.

Deborah was in a panic. Patty had completely rattled her and thrown her off her game. She was desperately trying to focus but Patty’s spiteful taunts were still ringing in her ears. Debs Morton was completely unprepared for embarking on a world class whopping.

Claire glared at Patty. During Rosemary’s caning Patty had stayed in the background and taken her snaps from afar. Now she was all over Deborah, taking a full facial photo of Debs face contorted in anguish.

“Is this really necessary,” snapped Claire.

Patty scowled. “One more word out of you young lady and I shall be beating you for insolence,” she said nastily.

Claire curled her lip contemptuously.

Debs head shook from side to side. Her tear ducts exploded. Her mouth was dry and she was struggling for breath. After only two strokes Debs Morton, a whop hardened veteran of over two hundred and fifty canings knew that she was being totally nailed.

Claire felt wretched. There was no question that Rosemary and Deborah needed to be caned but Patty had turned the punishment into a grotesque pantomime.

Claire Brooks had the highest regard for Debs. During the past twelve months Claire had caned Debs more than any other member of the community. They had a mutually healthy respect for each other. When they had analyzed the canings together Deborah had given Claire the highest accolade, telling her that she was an even hotter whopper than all-time greats such as Melanie White, the Butcher Twins and Cathryn Cassidy. Claire had enthusiastically praised Deborah for her ability to put it up and keep it up.

Claire sensed that Debs was not her usual self and was certain that Patty had somehow unnerved her. Patty’s gloating grin and obvious glee at Deborah’s distress was sickening to the prefect. Nonetheless she was duty bound to deliver the thrashing in a professional manner. Claire Brooks took a tight grip on the cane.

Debs threw her head back; her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open. The pain was unbelievable. She opened her eyes to be confronted with the sight of Patty kneeling down, snapping away with her camera and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Debs sunk her head back into the duvet. For the first time in years she felt tears running down her cheeks.

“She’s really in her groove,” Deborah had reported after her fifth outing with Claire’s cane. Her chums had inspected her backside and were impressed. The stripes had landed a hairs-breadth apart, right on the sweet spot. She had closed perfectly with a five-bar gate. That evening, on a poll on the GalGab web-site, Claire Brooks had been voted as the Hottest Elite Caner in History.

Debs gripped the duvet with white-knuckle desperation. She still had three hot ones to go and she was a mess. There was absolutely no possibility of getting into the zone. She knew she was going to experience the full majesty of every stroke. The cane slashed across her jimjams sending her into a paroxysm of spastic jerks and squirms.

Patty Hodge was salivating. Catching Deborah’s anguished reactions on camera was an unexpected bonus. She used the motor-wind feature of her camera to snap pic after pic of Deborah’s tear-stained face.

Debs braced herself. She buried her head between her arms and pressed her face into the softness of the duvet. Her eyes burned and her face was wet with tears. She could sense Claire behind her setting up for the closer.

Claire glared at Patty. The Deputy Grand Dame was kneeling down with her camera primed and ready to capture Deborah’s reaction to the closer.

Deborah’s jimjam covered behind was still twitching from the penultimate delivery. Claire waited until Debs had finally collected herself and settled back into position. She raised the cane and brought her arm down swiping.

Deborah dug deep into her resolve and slowly unclenched her twitching buttocks. Bravely she thrust her hips out slightly to give Claire her best shot. She heard the unmistakable whistle of the ashplant cutting through the air and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

“Gotcha,” Patty sneered into Debs face and snapped a photograph.

Deborah spent a miserable night tossing and turning. It wasn’t just the ferocious throbbing in her rear end that kept her awake. Debs had spent more nights than she cared to remember with stripes pulsating beneath her jimjams. However, the notion that Patty now had a collection of photographs that she would doubtless show around the saloon bar of the Bunch of Grapes was extremely disturbing and completely humiliating.

She had finally risen early and had thrown on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt and set off for her morning run. She had already completed two laps by the time Jane Lummell arrived.

“You’re early,” commented Jane.

“Claire gave me six last night,” Debs said ruefully, “I’m trying to run them off.”

Jane Lummell smiled sympathetically. “Any luck?”

Debs shook her head. “She really nailed me.” she reported. “They’re still sizzling.”

Deborah and her coach began to trot around the field side-by-side. Deborah gave Jane a whop-by-whop account of her latest misfortune. Jane Lummell was a card-carrying member of the Liberal Left of the Brass. She was considered strict but fair. She would never have dreamed of resorting to Patty’s cruel tactics.

“Patty’s such a bitch,” sympathized Deborah’s tennis coach. “If you like I can talk to the Grand Master and see if he can retrieve the photos.”

“Patty’s smart,” groaned Debs. “She’ll have downloaded them and secreted them somewhere.”

“It’s still worth a try,” insisted Jane. “Now why don’t you try and behave yourself today and stay out of trouble.”

“Believe you me Ma’am the shape my bums in I’ll be giving trouble a very wide berth,” agreed Deborah.

Deborah Morton inspected her bum in the mirror. The stripes were still prominent and tender to the touch. Rosemary came out of the shower.

“I don’t know about you but I’m still sizzling,” she groaned.

“Thank you for comforting me last night,” said Debs. “I’m sorry I made a muff of myself with all that moaning and groaning.”

“Deborah Morton!” said Rosemary emphatically, “you did not make a muff of yourself! You were operating under extreme duress.”

Deborah, Rosemary and Cassie Cassy congregated in Claire’s study to have their canings post-processed.

“I’m so sorry it went down like that,” Claire told Debs.

“There was absolutely nothing that you could do,” Debs reassured her. “She had us bang to rights on candid camera. We needed to be beaten. You were just doing your job, but, baby, you were born to cane.”

Claire Brooks blushed.

If you liked the extract and would like to spend more time with the Woody Gals go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Bend Over the Flogging Horse

R Humphries has a dilemma. At the Woody Back to School Unit the inmates are occasionally required to assemble in the Great Hall to witness one of their number being publicly punished.

So here is my dilemma. In my books these punishments have always been known as Public Floggings (the term has considerable historical precedent having been widely used in histories of CP, many works of literature, and innumerable memoirs). However, recent deplorable activities by radical extremists in some regions of the World have given public flogging a bad name.

In one of his many works, Frank Richards, the celebrated author of the Greyfriars stories, wrote a riveting episode in which Herbert Vernon-Smith is publicly horsed and birched in front of the assembled school. It is also well documented that a notoriously monstrous and permanently drunken Headmaster at Eton was fond of delivering public canings and many memoirists recall the somber atmosphere that prevailed during the performance of these rituals.

So, all things considered and after some careful thought I have chosen to continue to use the phrase in my stories as I feel certain that my readers will fully appreciate that the public punishments at the Woody Back to School Unit are totally unrelated to the aforementioned barbarities. Enough said.

Of course public floggings at the Woody Back to School Unit are steeped in ritual. R Humphries loves rituals. In the following extract from ‘Whops and Clobber’ poor old Debs Morton is paraded before the assembled community and publicly caned.

Deborah bent over the vaulting horse. Katie Beck took measurements and then told Debs to stand up. Debs watched morosely as Katie cynically raised the height of the saddle of the horse so that it was at an elevation that would be slightly too high for Deborah to bend over comfortably, and would mean she would have to remain on tiptoes throughout the flogging.

Deborah reached under her skirt and stepped out of her bumbags. She handed them to Katie. The Matron looked at the inside label to find the size. She crossed to a chest of drawers and after rummaging briefly she produced a crisply starched pair of white cotton gym shorts. She handed them to Deborah.

“Put them on,” grinned Katie.

Deborah Morton snatched the garment; known to the Woody Wags as whopping bags, and turned her back on Katie. She knew the form. She struggled and squirmed to slide herself into the shorts that Katie had purposefully selected a size too small. Deborah could barely fasten the button at the waist.

When the bell rang midway through the morning lectures the Woody gals knew what to expect.

“Assemble the inmates,” Katie announced over the public address system. “Deborah Morton, Phase 5, twelve stroke public flogging for vandalism.”

The announcement that Deborah would receive twelve strokes attracted a lot of raised eyebrows. Public floggings were traditionally divided into two categories.

Mandatory floggings were carried out during Callover and were limited to six strokes of the senior cane.

Punishment floggings were administered for more serious offenses that included cussing out the Brass or the Elite, smoking, boozing, scrapping or cutting curfew. At any time day or night the inmates could be summonsed to the assembly hall to witness a punishment flogging which was comprised of nine strokes.

A twelve-stroke flogging was unprecedented and the news was not well received by the inmates of the facility.

“Bummer! Twelve strokes is a bit strong,” grumbled Nix as she and her chums strode towards the assembly hall.

“Tough duty,” agreed Jojo. “Still it could have been worse, she could have been sent up before a parole board.”

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” sighed Rosemary.

Debs Morton was not thanking anyone for small mercies. Ms Lawton had Deborah pinned down over her knee, with her white cotton whopping bags rolled down and concertinaed around her ankles. Ms Lawton was giving Debs a damn good spanking. Debs had reluctantly allowed herself to be lowered downwards and stretched out into the mandatory full drape so that she was fully supported by Ms Lawton with only the tips of her fingers and her toes touching the carpet.

However much she hated being hand spanked like a grubby Deborah was forced to grudgingly admit that the warm-up actually helped her to get into the zone. Being caned in front of the whole unit was always a daunting experience but as a fully paid up mega-minx Deborah was duty bound to take her flogging without making a muff of herself.

Ms Lawton pulled Deborah in tight and Debs settled in for a few very hot and very sweaty minutes.

Debs pulled up the zip and fastened the button on the side of her shorts. The material chaffed against the swollen flesh. She wriggled involuntarily. Over the intercom she heard Katie summonsing the inmates to the assembly hall. She felt a shiver up her spine.

Ms Lawton was at the tall-boy selecting a cane, flexing them between her hands and swishing them through the air until she found one to her liking.

“You can consider yourself lucky that I haven’t sent you before a disciplinary hearing,” she told Deborah coldly, “but I can assure you Morton, I intend to flog you with the utmost severity.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Deborah, although she wasn’t too sure that she was exactly feeling lucky.

The Grand Dame held the door for Deborah and they entered the Assembly Hall. There was a grinding of seats as the inmates rose to acknowledge the arrival of the Grand Dame. Deborah stepped up onto the stage and stood beside the vaulting horse. She clasped her hands in front of her and gazed out over the assembled congregation. The Grand Dame ordered the inmates to take their seats and unhurriedly she asked Penelope Ann Evans to step onto the stage and call registration.

As she passed by Deborah, Penelope Ann threw her a sympathetic glance; Debs winked. The Red-shirt called registration efficiently and when she called Deborah’s name the gal on the stage turned to face her and replied in a voice filled with irony, “Yes, Evans, I’m here.”

Even the Grand Dame grinned at that.

Finally the Red-shirt returned to her place by the wall and the Grand Dame stood up. She moved to the front of the stage and addressed the inmates. She admonished Deborah’s behavior savagely and informed the assembled inmates of her intention to punish Debs extremely soundly. During the speech Deborah was pulling sarcastic faces at the gals who sat before her. They began to chuckle and were immediately silenced by the Grand Dame but when she turned suspiciously to look at her Deborah’s expression was one of stony indifference.

Ms Lawton slipped off her black double-breasted jacket and hung it up. She was wearing a white silk blouse with the collar turned up at the back. She unfastened the cuffs and neatly rolled back her sleeves to below the elbow. Deborah watched with stony-faced resignation. She was keenly aware that in a matter of moments the fireworks were scheduled to begin.

When the Grand Dame turned to collect the long thin senior cane from the table Deborah spotted her chum Rosemary waving crossed fingers from the back of the hall; Deborah winked again. The inmates chuckled behind their hands. If the Grand Dame was aware of Deborah’s performance she chose to ignore it.

She took the long crook-handled cane from the table and turned to face her victim. She held the long thin cane between both hands and flexed it into an arc.

“Bend over the horse,” she instructed.

Deborah turned and faced the vaulting horse. Due to the extra three inches that Katie had raised the saddle Debs had to tiptoe up as she bent forward at the waist. She reached down and gripped the legs on the far side, her hips rested on the top of the horse; she was balanced on the tips of her toes.

The inmates were treated to the sight of Deborah’s bottom, shrouded in the skintight white whopping bags with razor vertical creases, as it sat up proud and defenseless.

The Grand Dame stood to the left of Deborah and placed the cane on the upturned moons and tapped the stick down gently to gauge her distance. The tight gym shorts made Deborah’s slightly plump rump an especially enticing target. She tapped the cane down a second time and then a third.

Deborah closed her eyes tightly.

Satisfied, Ms Lawton pulled her arm back, cocked ready for release. With a look of rapt concentration on her face she swiped the cane downwards with extreme prejudice. The cane sliced through the air with a sharp whistle and rebounded off Deborah’s backside with a resounding crack.

Deborah felt the breath knocked from her and she held onto the legs with a vice-like grip. A line of scalding fire flashed across her tender behind. If the opener was anything to go by Deborah was about to experience an exceptionally painful few minutes.

The seasoned veterans in the hall watched closely. Although the Grand Dames back-swing was deceptively short there was no question that she had opened with a scorcher. The inmates exchanged knowing glances. It was clear that Ms Lawton intended to teach Deborah a lesson that she wasn’t likely to forget in a hurry.

The cane swished and thwacked again; Deborah felt as if every nerve end in her body had been sent into a hot prickly dance. The third slashed downwards and the hapless Debs felt giddy with pain. The collar of her blouse felt like it was choking her and her eyes prickled with hot tears that she would never let fall.

The Beak delivered stroke after stroke with deadly force. By the seventh stroke Deborah’s buttocks were evenly covered with hot stripes from top to bottom. The eighth and ninth strokes began to merge with the existing stripes but somehow Deborah retained her position without moving and was showing no indication of the trauma she was suffering.

Ms Lawton felt cheated; she was giving it her best and was getting no reaction. She set her mouth in a determined manner and took a tight grip on the cane.

“Let’s see how you like this,” the Grand Dame thought silently then raised the cane slightly higher than usual and brought her arm down with considerable force. The cane slashed across the target with a terrible crack, as if a rifle shot had been fired.

Deborah’s head was spinning. The flesh beneath her crisp white whopping bags seemed to be sizzling. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear the fog of pain. “It’s only whops, it’s only whops,” she repeated over and over. Somewhere in the distance she heard an audible gasp.

The Grand Dame stared at the cane in horror; upon its devastating impact the shaft of the cane had snapped off at the end. For a moment Ms Lawton was at a loss as how to proceed. During decades of thrashing thousands of luckless behinds she had never once broken a cane. It had never occurred to her that she might need a back-up. Clearly there was no time to send for another cane from her office, she couldn’t leave Deborah folded over the horse. Her mind raced.

“Melanie, bring me your ashplant,” she commanded. Quickly the Deputy Red-shirt came onto the stage and handed the Grand Dame the short swishy stick that she was required to carry under her arm at all times.

Deborah had no idea what was going on she just wanted the last two strokes to be over with. Her bottom felt fried and frazzled, all her blood seemed to have rushed to her head making her feel dizzy.

The Grand Dame flexed the ashplant with obvious displeasure. The light rod seemed like a mere twig compared to the regal senior cane that now lay cast aside, pathetically broken.

“I’m sorry Morton,” she announced. “This ashplant is most unsuitable; I intend to give you two additional strokes to make up for its inadequacy.”

The inmates gasped audibly. Deborah, in her upside down position, could hardly believe her ears. She vainly tried to object but before she could get words of her mouth her arse was under fire once again. Deborah’s head was spinning at an alarming rate as the twelfth stroke whistled through the air. She clenched her teeth as the nerve jangling implosion racked through her body. The thirteenth stroke followed swiftly with the same cobra’s venom. Deborah gripped the legs of the horse in white-knuckle desperation. By now she could hardly breathe through the bile filling her throat and nose and her bottom throbbed and ached and burned.

The Grand Dame let the cane fall by her side for a moment. She studied the white target thoughtfully. Deborah had not flinched or moved, not a sound had uttered from her lips. Ms Lawton was sure that if she put her hands close to the gal’s backside she would be able to warm them as if she was in front of a well-stoked coal fire. The Grand Dame lifted the cane for the final time.

The gals in the assembly hall watched in mute horror as the Grand Dame’s arm went up. Most of the gals congregated had experienced a taste of a prefect’s ashplant during their stay at Woodys. As such they were well able to confirm that, despite the Grand Dame’s reservations, the ashplant, in accomplished hands was more than adequate to stir up the proverbial hornet’s nest inside a pair of tautened bumbags.

When the ashplant came down with a terrific swipe not a single gal in the hall would have swapped places in Deborah’s gym shorts. The stick lashed diagonally across Deborah’s bottom, cruelly crossing each of the previous tramlines, the impact echoing around the hall.

Deborah nearly screamed. She wanted to howl, to yell, to open the floodgates and let all the tears burn down her cheeks. Instead she held her breath and prayed that the wave of agony would pass quickly. She ran the sleeve of her blouse over her eyes and nose. She hung upside down and tried to start to breathe normally. She took her time before she pushed herself up. As she tried to stand up her knees wobbled and Ms Lawton put her hand on her shoulder to steady her. Deborah Morton roughly shrugged the Grand Dame’s assistance away and leant against the vaulting horse. She took a deep breath before she turned and faced the audience.

The hall was silent. Every gal was watching Deborah in disbelieving silence. Despite her chalk white face and the thin set of her lips, she remained defiant. She brushed some hair from her face, tucked her tie back in her gym shorts and calmly stared out at the assembled inmates.

“You may retire to your study now Morton,” the Grand Dame told Deborah curtly. “We’ll post-process you later.”

The recalcitrant inmate looked at the Grand Dame contemptuously. “You wanted to thrash me, well now you have. I hope you enjoyed it,” her voice was clear and bold. When she had finished speaking she turned on her heel and walked towards the steps. Suddenly she turned around and curtsied.

“Thank you Ma’am,” she said sarcastically, “You won’t have to beat me like that again.”

As she hurried from the stage her heart was pounding and her bottom felt like a cauldron filled with spicy ingredients each competing for which could make the gumbo hottest. All the while she was waiting to be called back, but in a moment the doors of the hall were swinging behind her and to her great relief she was free.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Inspecting the Stripes and Keeping up with the ‘State of the Arse’

It’s always nice to see hard-working and dedicated members of our spanking community enjoying some success, so congratulations to Ian over at YEOWCH!! for his impressive statistics and my thanks to him for adding us to his blogroll. Come to think about it the Woody Back to School Unit continues to attract a growing readership so thanks to all of you who stop by and especially to those of you that have purchased copies of my books from the Woodettes Storefront.

As a writing of spanking fiction I am always looking for sources of inspiration and this illustration, by an unknown artist, rather amused me and certainly helped to conjure up some story-lines. Not surprisingly the inmates at the Woody Back to School Unit spend a considerable amount of time inspecting each other’s stripes and analyzing the ‘states of their arse’s’.

I remember a reader’s letter published eons ago in somewhere like Mayfair or Piccadilly (old soft-core porno mags that my Dad and his generation used to savor) where a young lady explained that her first experience of being titillated by spanking was when one of her friends had been caned and all the gals forced her to bend over her bed so they could inspect the stripes. Probably not a very dignified memory for the poor soul who had to endure the inspection but an entertaining thought for the spanko’s amongst us.

I am currently indisposed due to family obligations so … Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

A Spanking Good 4th July to Y’all

Being a Londoner by birth, during my formative years we did not generally celebrate the damn good spanking the colonists gave us back in 1776. Nonetheless, having now pitched my wigwam in Texas for almost two decades I am rather taken with a celebration that encourages me to ignite some fireworks in My Beloved Jojo’s bumbags. I’m not sure whether that’s what John Adams meant when he said …

“The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more,”

… but who am I to question the old duffer and his day of deliverance? … Besides he got the date wrong!

Anyway happy 4th of July! No time for blogging today as family duties beckon …Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Bend Over Jojo and Other Flogging Tips

Being a devoted spanko sometimes has unexpected advantages. This morning R Humphries braved the Texas heat furnace and went golfing. Actually the way that I thrash about the course it would more aptly be described as flogging. Anyway one of my cart-buddies suggested that I might be able to slow down my erratic back-swing by counting 1-2-3 as I came through the ball. This proved somewhat effective but is rather boring as mantra’s go. It occurred to me that I had far better phrases at my disposal. So I tried out muttering ‘Bend over Jojo’ as I swung and miraculously I started controlling the club much better.

It is not the first time that golfing and spanking have inter-acted. Some time ago I was explaining to My Beloved Jojo that she was going to get six of the best with the senior cane. I instructed her that I needed her to bend over the bar-stool and added that “we need to get you teed up properly”. For some reason this tickled Jojo and she broke from character and burst into a fit of giggles. Of course this is a breach of protocol and I was naturally obliged to inform her that she would receive a second six for her inappropriate mirth. Of course this news attracted some muttered grumblings from Jojo but once she had got her initial grievances off her chest she saw my point of view(that’s my story and I’m sticking to it … lol) and she dutifully bent over the stool.

Although ‘teed up’ might seem a little quirky it is not as strange as it seems. In spanking, and most particularly caning, positioning is everything. A successful caning is a partnership. While it is my job to deliver the strokes safely without wraparounds or high or low riders Jojo knows that it is her responsibility to put it up and keep it up. We try to utilize furniture that not only allows Jojo some limited degree of comfort but also offers the best opportunity to present herself in the safest possible manner.

These photographs illustrate a slight variation in positions. In the picture on the left the unfortunate Pippa is bent over a high-stool and required to hold onto the crossbar. In this pose she is basically head down, arse up and in little position to interfere or interrupt the proceedings. In the photo to the right the stool has been moved so that she is no longer bent like a bow and her upper torso is now spread-eagled across the face of a desk. Obviously this change of pose was to allow the photographer better access to snap her facial contortions, nonetheless the position allows her far greater opportunity to twist and squirm and try to protect herself.

 Although the model Pippa may not have appreciated it at the time, the slight inconvenience of having blood rushing to her head as it dangled between her outstretched arms while her bottom was being swished with a whippy cane was far preferable to the more dangerous possibilities when she was allowed to freely wriggle and squirm about on the desktop. 

This may all sound rather pedantic but as a caning purist I am convinced that ‘the lower the head and the higher the arse, the better it is for everybody involved’ and without doubt this philosophy guarantees the best chance of completing a caning with the minimum potential for untoward side-effects. Jojo and R Humphries first golden rule of spanking is … Safety First!

Todd and Suzy over at American Spanking Society and About Spanking have nominated today as Consensual Spanking Day, which I think is a great idea. My Beloved Jojo and I believe that spanking should always be consensual and fun. Obviously everybody’s personal circumstances dictate the amount of time we are able to indulge in our chosen lifestyle. So if you can’t actually manage to get in any whops today, then at least talk about whops or think about whops and thanks to Todd and Suzy for promoting this great community idea.

Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Corporal Punishment – South African Style

An interesting video clip of a South African caning has been doing the rounds and can be viewed by clicking this link, South African Caning. [Note 27 July ... My apologies but this link appears to have been taken down by Google ... I will attempt to find another link on the web ... RH]

The instrument being wielded by the hard-faced disciplinarian is a sjambok, a cane made from adult hippopotamus or rhino hide. As can be seen from the video clip it is quite an extreme instrument. The recipient is clearly not enjoying herself!

In recent years use of the sjambok has largely been prohibited in South Africa due to its connections with the bad old days of apartheid. The commentator on the video clip places the ‘re-enactment’ as a punishment from the late nineteen-fifties, however, there is evidence that it was still in use in certain ‘judicial’ proceedings as recently as the early nineteen-seventies.

At that time information coming out of South Africa was sparse due to the political climate. R Humphries attention was caught by an article in one of the alternative, underground magazines that floated around London at the time which mentioned the plight of a British-born mother and daughter in Johannesburg.

Apparently the woman and her daughter, who was visiting from an English boarding school, were caught driving in a restricted area without the proper travel papers in place. They were arrested suspected of colluding with the ANC.

According to the article these charges were highly spurious and unlikely. The woman was a reputable business woman, normally resident in Cape Town and had most likely just got lost.

According to the report they were denied counsel and appeared before some kind of kangaroo tribunal where they were found guilty (sounds a lot like most of the inmates at the Woody Back to School Unit). They were both sentenced to a ‘lashing’, which was the approved formal legalese at the time.

I should mention that the article was of a political nature and the mention of the lashings was incidental. However, it did supply several nuggets. The daughter of the piece was sentenced to six ‘cuts’ of the standard cane. She informed the journalist that “it hurt quite a lot but we get caned far harder at school”. The article cited the name of the extremely expensive school that she attended but as it is still in operation and doubtless has more funds available in its legal war-chest than the impoverished R Humphries I shall not mention it by name.

The business-woman was less fortunate and was sentenced to twelve strokes of the sjambok. Unfortunately details were sketchy save to say that she was stripped to the waist and secured over the lashing bench with wrist and ankle restraints before being lashed with the fearsome sjambok.

Apparently the woman was understandably aggrieved by her ill-treatment and attempted to seek compensation from the authorities. Despite medical evidence that she had incurred severe weals during the lashing, the mandarins in Pretoria denied any knowledge of the incident and refuted the existence of secret punishment silos. She was informed that should she continue to pursue her claim her residency would be rescinded. Due to the stringent restrictions on the movement of currency that were in place during that period she would to all extents and purposes be rendered homeless and penniless.

I have searched the archives of corpun.com but the particular article is not available, although, however, the site does contain some interesting material regarding the wide use of corporal punishment in South Africa during that period.

Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.

Caned by the KGB

The bumbags of the inmates of the Woody Back to School Unit are often faced with curious new challenges and none greater than the arrival of the mysterious Russian Dame, Tatyana Kerimov.

The following extract from the Woody Back to School Unit Saga describes Tatyana’s introduction to the curious inmates (a longer extract appears below, just bear with me … lol):

Tatyana Kerimov wore a long hooded shroud. She walked with a slight limp and supported her weight with a silver handled walking stick as she approached the front of the stage in the assembly hall. She looked like a cross between Gandolph and Darth Vader. She bowed deeply at the waist. She flicked back her hood and exposed a wizened wrinkled face and iron-grey hair.

“Greetings, my students,” she said in a voice without a trace of an accent. “When we are rehearsing you will of course address me as Maestra.” She smiled. Her eyes had an unmistakable and slightly mischievous twinkle. “Otherwise I prefer a less formal approach; you may call me Madam Kerimov.”

It transpires that she was an old acquaintance of the former Grand Dame, Major Susan Lawton, from their days in Military Intelligence, where they had been on opposite sides of the Cold War.

Ms Lawton persuades Mr Humphries to employ Madam Kerimov as the replacement Dame in charge of Music, citing her credentials for the position. “She was one of the few women who exerted real power in the Kremlin and for some years she has been a musical director at the National Symphony and is one of the few female conductors’ in the world,” Ms Lawton tells the Grand Master. “She is here for a performance. A few days ago her sponsor, one of the oligarch’s, was arrested on charges of corruption. Tatyana has been warned that if she returns to Russia she will be charged as an accomplice. Strangely enough she is not enthusiastic about the prospect of fifteen years in Siberia.”

When Mr Humphries asks what her position would be regarding whops Ms Lawton just laughs. “Grand Master, she is ex-KGB and was trained at the Dzerzhinsky Academy,” she explains, “I very much doubt Tatyana will have much problem with the concept of whops.”

The inmates are fascinated by the shrouded Russian and cannot resist the temptation to test her mettle. Predictably it is Debs Morton who feels obliged to provoke her and in this extract from the Woody Back to School Unit saga Debs finds out what it’s like to be caned by the KGB.

Tatyana Kerimov’s first official order of business had been to bend Deborah Morton over the piano stool and beat her with a violin bow.

Jojo, Nix and Rosemary rolled their eyes and shook their heads hopelessly as they watched Deborah relentlessly prod, poke and provoke the new Dame on the block. It was a reversion to classic Debs behavior and the outcome was all too predictable. Despite her best chums earnest counseling Debs had pitched up in the music room on a mission. She had persistently interrupted Madam Kerimov’s amiable attempts to become acquainted with her new students and ignored repeated requests for her to raise her hand if she had something to say.

By halfway through the lesson Madam had finally grown exasperated at Deborah’s interruptions and limped up the aisle to confront her. In her ankle length hooded shroud the Russian resembled Rasputin the Mad Monk. Tatyana raised her walking stick and smacked it down loudly on the wooden desktop causing Deborah to involuntarily recoil in her seat. Madam Kerimov prodded Deborah in the chest with the tip of the stick, pushing her further back in her chair. The Dame swept back her hood and fixed Debs with a gimlet glare.

“Would you very much care for six?” she enquired. She slowly lifted the stick and deftly tilted Deborah’s chin upwards so that they were eyeball to eyeball.

“No Madam Kerimov,” spluttered Deborah hurriedly, “I must confess that I would not very much for care for six.” Fleetingly Debs cast her eyes down warily at the menacing walking stick. “But thank you for asking,” she added somewhat lamely.

Madam Kerimov lowered the stick, keeping her eyes fixed on Deborah’s. “Good,” she said. She prodded the stick at Debs chest again, “then the matter is closed.” She pulled her hood back over her head, turned away and limped back towards the front of the music room.

Deborah Morton stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at the Dames retreating back.

Deborah unfastened the five buttons of her black blazer, shrugged it off and hung it over the back of her chair. She crossed the room and looked down into the glass topped cabinets that housed the collection of violin bows. She drummed her fingers nervously on the glass and looked over towards the Russian. Tatyana was standing at the front of the room leaning forward resting her weight on her walking stick with both hands on the silver handle. Debs couldn’t see the Dame’s face beneath the hood but she could feel her penetrating eyes drilling into her. Deborah shivered. She continued to stare down at the selection of bows. She raised the top of the first cabinet and reached in, running her fingers over each of the three bows on display. After a few seconds she closed the case and moved along to the next showcase. Briefly she looked down and then moved on again. Finally she stopped at a case that contained a single bow. With a heavy heart she raised the lid and with trembling fingers she reached in and extracted the familiar instrument.

The bow had been commissioned by Deborah’s former arch-nemesis Miss Whitton. She had purchased the instrument from a craftsman in Permanamburo who had taken the original design of Francois Tourte’s seventy five centimeter bow and perfected the balance of colophoany, oils and plasiticizeds to produce one of the most lethal beating weapons ever designed. Ms Whitton had the craftsman engrave the words ‘The Morton Special’ along the shaft of the bow.

Deborah handed the bow to the hooded Russian and then went and picked up the piano stool. She moved the stool to the center of the small stage and slowly bent forward, slithering her tummy across the padded seat and stretching herself out.

Bent in half with her arse considerably higher than her head Debs settled in to be whopped. “Piano Stools and Violin Bows”, she thought to herself, “that sounds like the title of a Rod Stewart song”, and then all hell broke loose in her bumbags.

Jojo, Nixdown and Rosemary watched attentively as Madam Kerimov tapped the violin bow down to gauge her distance. Debs lay prostrate and acquiescent across the low-slung piano stool, the hem of her skirt and the tail of her red shirt neatly folded back. The navy blue gossamer stretched tightly across her upturned buttocks.

Madam Kerimov raised the bow in the air and brought her arm down swiping. The resounding crack of the violin bow exploding off Deborah’s bumbags brought lectures all along the corridor to an immediate standstill.

Any lingering notions that Debs harbored that being beaten by Maestra Kerimov would be a privilege were instantly dispelled as the violin bow sliced across her upturned behind. The bow landed with such considerable force that Debs was surprised that the stool didn’t collapse beneath her. It was a stunning opener. Deborah’s legs crooked at the knees and her fists pummeled the floor in consternation.

“Holy shit,” mouthed Jojo.

Nixdown let out a low whistle.

Rosemary just stared with eyes as big as saucers.

The three chums were experiencing an eerie sense of déjà vu. It was almost six months since Deborah had last felt recklessly compelled to test the mettle of a new Music Dame and had been stunned to encounter the extraordinary talents of Suzy Scott. If Deborah’s uncharacteristically energetic reaction to the opening swipe was anything to judge by her chums feared that Debs had just embarked upon another excruciatingly painful learning experience.

Debs wriggled and squirmed before slumping back into position just in time for the second stroke to arrive. Deborah’s legs scissored spastically as shock-waves ricocheted around her central nervous system.

From beneath the cover of her hood Tatyana watched Deborah writhing on the piano stool. She waited patiently for Debs to settle down and stretch out again.

She raised the violin bow and brought it down with a third explosive crack.

Deborah’s head and shoulders snapped back, her face was contorted into a silent howl. She slumped forwards, panting audibly.

Momentarily she appeared to be trying to make herself as small as possible. Her knees and arms pressed inwards against the stool. Her buttocks were twitching visibly beneath her tautened bumbags.

Maestra prodded Deborah with the tip of the bow and gently tapped her knees and elbows, indicating that she needed to straighten out and get back into position. Very slowly Deborah complied.

The Maestra tapped the cane down, taking her time. Debs had maneuvered herself back into a full drape, her head well down between her outstretched arms, with just the tips of her fingers and toes touching the floor. Deborah was feeling slightly shell-shocked, the quality and power of the first three strokes had caught her off guard. She gritted her teeth as she felt the bow gently tapping down on her bumbags.

Debs body bucked and jerked, her backside wriggled frantically as the violin bow sliced across the sweet spot. It was another sensational strike. The sound of the fourth swipe of the cane rebounding off Deborah’s bumbags echoed all the way down the hallway. In the lecture rooms along the corridors the inmates were exchanging sage glances. There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that some poor soul was catching it extremely hot.

Maestra showed no signs of letting up; her arm swiped downwards and the arrival of the violin bow sent Deborah into another series of agitated convulsions.

There was a breathless hush in the music room. Jojo, Nix and Rosemary leaned forward with their elbows on their desk lids and their chins cupped in their hands. Maestra was standing over Deborah looking like the Grim Reaper in her hooded shroud. Taking her time and setting herself up for the closer.

The previous evening Tatyana had spent several hours on the practice range discussing whops and eliciting expert tips from Suzy Scott. Suzy had emphasized the importance of the closer. The Maestra took careful aim and brought her arm back.

Debs heart was pounding and there was a sheen of perspiration across her brow. She swallowed hard and tried to generate some moisture in her dry mouth. She felt the violin bow tapping down once, twice, thrice on the drum-tight fabric of her bumbags. She squeezed her eyes tight and waited to be propelled on the final leg of her voyage to hell and back.

If you liked the extract go to the Woodettes Storefront and BUY THE BOOK’s! You will not be disappointed! Lol! Bottoms Up! Thanks for stopping by … RH

Don’t Forget – Free Chapters of the Woody Back to School Unit spanking saga are available at the Woodettes Publications Page.