A Classic Spank-off – Debs versus Melons

Today’s extract features an account of the legendary contest between Debs Morton and Melanie White, during the Great Woody Spank-off.

When you’re sitting comfortably, and I sincerely hope that some of you aren’t, then I shall begin. However, before moving on to our ringside report of this classic spanking confrontation I would like to thank SpankOz for the kind acknowledgement. Now the bell has rung and on with the main event … enjoy!

Deborah Morton was bent over the chair waiting for six. She was sweating profusely, her eyes stung from unwept tears and she had a queasy feeling in the pit of her tummy that made her feel quite bilious. Before she had bent over she had asked the Grand Master permission to loosen her collar and tie so that she could at least breathe a little easier. Her backside was already a mass of scarlet weeping stripes.

Deborah had been gloating all week about her elevation to number three seed, although she secretly thought that she should be joint number one with Jojo. However, hanging over the back of the chair, Deborah Morton knew she was in danger of going out in the first round. She had always known that Melanie White would be a tough competitor but she had never imagined anything like this.

The preliminaries had been sensational. Melanie White was an extremely practiced spanker. During her year in the Elite she had been allocated the task of acting as Virginia Gardiner’s personal draper. Ginny was a sullen broody gal who was not much taken with her position as a grubby and was extremely lax in carrying out her duties. Although she was a kindly gal Melons was obliged to drape Virginia on a regular basis and became highly proficient at making the Little Brat sit up and take notice.

What Deborah lacked in experience she made up for in raw power. Her muscular right serving arm and strong wrist caused every spank to echo around the hall as her palm rebounded from Melanie’s naked flesh.

The shrewd pundits on the hall-floor were calling it a close fought draw.

It fell to Debs to make the first bid and the audience gasped when she opened with a straight dozen.

“She’s stark raving bonkers,” was one opinion.

“Flash cow,” sneered a few others.

“She knows what she’s doing,” others opined sagely.

When Melanie curtly accepted the challenge, Deborah Morton calmly bent over the back of the chair. Her bid had not been as outrageous as it seemed. She had watched the first two bouts closely. Raitch and the AliKat had both taken a full eighteen strokes before conceding. Debs was in no doubt that Melanie would go that far as a minimum.

After five years of being beaten at the Queensgate Academy and a further six years being thrashed at the Woody Back to School unit Deborah Morton had analyzed every aspect of the anatomy of a caning.

Aside from the obvious unpleasantness of the physical pain involved in having her backside diced and sliced with a thirty-six inch length of rattan there were other unpleasant aspects to the experience.

Deborah couldn’t count the amount of hours in her life that she had been enforced to endure the nerve-wracking, gut-wrenching experience of just waiting to be caned. Hours in the Posh HQ at school, more hours at the unit standing facing walls with her hands on her head with nothing else to do than think about the future of her poor beleaguered bum.

It was no longer humiliating to be forced to proffer her backside upwards for the sole purpose of having it thrashed but it was certainly disconcerting.

By bidding large Debs had at least taken some of the unpleasantness out of the equation and besides she came from the ‘let’s get it over with’ school of thinking.

Melanie White watched the caning proceed with an air of indifference on her pretty face. Debs bid had mildly surprised her but she had quickly caught on to her opponent’s strategy and actually considered it quite wise. Deborah knew that the first twelve strokes were no more than a formality and that the match would not really begin until the second round of bidding. She bit her lip and considered her own strategy.

Predictably Debs and Melanie took their thrashings in stoic silence. With eighteen strokes and a pair of damn good spankings inside their bumbags the two gals prepared themselves for the next phase.

“I’ll take another dozen,” said Melanie White calmly.

Deborah was taken by surprise, she gaped at her opponent.

“Shit,” she muttered, but nonetheless she nodded. “Count me in,” she breathed.

Melanie White was an attractive gal. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair, a cutely upturned nose liberally sprinkled with freckles and an open-friendly smile. She was not tall, standing four feet eleven and a half inches in stockinged feet, she had a small pert behind that flared up to a narrow waist; but most noticeably she possessed an extraordinary pair of mammary glands. Predictably her gargantuan gazonkas had earned her the nickname of Melons.

Her father was a celebrated heart surgeon who traveled extensively to consult on complex procedures. Her mother was a leading acolyte on the charity circuit. For the most part Melanie was left to her own devices. Academically gifted, she was able to complete her homework quickly and efficiently leaving her plenty of time to explore the bars and night-clubs of the West End. Her magnificent mammaries guaranteed her entrance to the most exclusive clubs despite being under-age.

The exclusive school she attended practiced limited corporal punishment. Nonetheless Melanie was caned a dozen times, mostly for falling asleep in class after late night forays around the clubs, smoking, and during her final year on several occasions for slipping into pubs at lunch-time for a much needed hair of the dog.

Despite her night-crawls she effortlessly passed the exams required to gain her entrance to Camford where she would study medicine. She quickly established her presence on the college party scene. Towards the end of her first year at college she was arrested and charged with a minor Ladetting offense. She was placed under a college curfew for a year. A sentence she chose to ignore. However, she managed to stay under the radar for almost six months before an unfortunate article in a local newspaper alerted the Dark Agents of the System. In the article the journalist had mentioned Melanie’s name on several occasions as a doyen of the club scene. She was rousted from her bed and brought before a special hearing. The agents were able to demonstrate that she was a serial curfew breaker and she was dispatched to the Big House forthwith. Making an example of a prominent surgeon’s daughter was exactly the kind of PR coup that the System thrived on.

At the Woody Back to School unit Melons was reunited with her old chum Cathryn Cassidy, who she knew from dancing on tables together on the Ladette party scene. Despite her lowly status as a Little Brat it was evident that Cat had no intention of complying with the draconian rules, regulations and protocols imposed at the facility. In the evenings after they had completed grubbing duties Cat would work tirelessly on drafts of her subversive Manifesto of Mega-minxdom and Melons would work as her editor and chief advisor.

For the next seven years Melanie White would remain as one of the stalwarts of the movement and refused to be bowed by the more tyrannical elements of the Brass or the Elite. Predictably Melanie White had been whopped into the highest echelons of the Big BUTT Hall of Shame.

Melanie licked her dry lips as she approached the chair. She knew that calling another dozen was a bold call. The first eighteen strokes had been extremely painful, nonetheless she considered herself sufficiently in the zone to tolerate a few more strokes. She was determined to push herself to the limit of her endurance.

Deborah Morton watched the caning proceeding with a pounding heart. When Melons had called the dozen Debs had figured that the Old Gal’s strategy was to take as many as she could before throwing the towel in. Mentally Debs had resigned herself that she would be required to take another four or five strokes to win the bout. When they passed the six mark Debs was becoming increasingly anxious. At nine she was gaping incredulously. Melanie jumped up at each of the last three strokes but miraculously each time she managed to keep from rubbing and gamely repositioned herself across the back of the chair.

Debs Morton was faced with the terrible prospect of having to take the full dozen just to remain in the competition. Unenthusiastically Deborah folded herself over the back of the chair.

Mr Humphries caned Deborah with the same crisp authority. Debs did her best to stay still but towards the end of the second dozen, like Melanie, she leapt to her feet in agitation on several occasions. However, she managed not to reach back to soothe her stinging arse which would have meant instant disqualification and bravely agreed to go back over the chair to complete her caning.

The audience watched in stupefied awe. The concept of thirty strokes of the cane on naked flesh was mind-boggling. The maximum strokes that had ever been given, even during a public flogging, was eighteen, and that was considered very tough duty indeed.

There had been high expectations prior to the start of the Spank-off but nobody had anticipated witnessing such display of courage and determination.

Both gals were clearly distressed but when Debs bid a further six Melons immediately agreed.

The Grand Master asked the two contestants if they wanted to take a time-out before continuing.

“This is the last round of the cane,” he told them. “If you both go the distance we’re going to settle this bout with hand spankings.”

Deborah looked over at Melanie. Her opponent was looking ashen and was hopping from foot to foot.

“It’s up to you,” Debs asked Melons.

Melanie shook her head. “Let’s get it over with.”

Deborah nodded her agreement and wriggled back to the chair.

“May I have permission to loosen my tie sir?” she asked through clenched teeth.

The Grand Master looked over at Melanie. “Fine with me,” she said and her hand quickly reached for her own throat.

With her neckwear rearranged Deborah Morton bent over the chair and waited for six. She felt the cane tap downwards and tensed her aching cheeks. The cane whistled down and cut across the existing stripes with extreme malice. Deborah let out an agitated squeal and kicked her leg backwards. She gritted her teeth and stayed down. Her fingers were trembling and she could feel salty tears rolling down her cheeks.

The Grand Master took his time, allowing Deborah the opportunity to concede, before unleashing a second stripe from hell. The crowd watched in awed silence as Deborah writhed and squirmed, snorting and panting as the pain seared through her. A third cut collided with the swollen behind and she let out another anguished squeal. She could no longer think clearly as the pain seemed to roll over her in a scarlet wave. When she had finally settled down again Mr Humphries swung the cane landing it perfectly across the crown of Deborah’s behind. She squealed and leapt to her feet. Her hands shot back and for a moment it looked as if she was going to rub. Somehow with her fingers just inches from her tortured behind she managed to stop herself. She stood with fingers twitching, her shoulders pumping as her breath came in long pants and her back arched in pain.

“Are you finished,” the Grand Master asked in a kindly voice.

Deborah shook her head from side to side. “No sir! I’ll go over again,” she spluttered. She wiped her nose and eyes on the cuff of her blouse, and then she loosened her tie even further. She stared at the chair, plucking up her courage before finally bending over. She hung heavily over the chair, her mind a blur. The final two strokes cut through like a knife through butter but somehow she managed to stay down. For nearly a minute she hung over the chair, not wanting to move. Her bum felt as if it had been griddled. Mr Humphries helped her to her feet; she reached down and pulled up her bumbags, flinching as they chaffed her raw flesh. She hobbled away from the chair, still panting, her face contorted into a look of deep shock.

Melanie had watched the caning with increasing anxiety. She had dearly hoped that Deborah would have quit earlier, now she knew she had to take the full six to stay in the game. She couldn’t believe that Debs had taken thirty six strokes, but looking at her opponent she was sure that if she could get through the six then Deborah would be forced to fold. With as much bravado as she could muster Melanie White bent over the chair.

She took the first two strokes without movement, trying to keep her breathing easy. The third stroke sliced down landing on a sore spot and she stood bolt upright letting out an impassioned groan, however almost immediately she was back across the chair. She squeezed her eyes tight. The cane lashed down, it landed over-lapping two swollen stripes. Melanie leapt to her feet, the pain was excruciating. She danced up and down, waving her hands behind her.

“Are you finished?” asked Mr Humphries.

Time stood still for Deborah Morton as she watched her opponent desperately trying to regain her composure. Melons stood with her face in her hands her mind racing. Finally, very slowly she slid her hands down her hips and reached back and cupped her tortured buttocks.

“I’m out,” she hissed, tears rolling down her face.

Deborah limped across the stage and hugged Melons tightly. Melons laid her head on Debs shoulder and sobbed. Deborah stroked her hair kindly.

After Mr Humphries had pronounced Debs as the winner by thirty-six strokes to thirty-four the two tearful gals left the stage arm in arm heading for a sink filled with ice-cold water.

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