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.