Piano Stools Make Great Spanking Furniture

I doubt that I am unusual when I confess that I often look at pieces of furniture and find myself contemplating their purchase based on their potential as venues for spankings rather than their suitability for their original design. Piano stools are a particular obsession as is apparent from today’s extract from the soon to be published Volume 07 – And Then He Kissed Her. Go figure … but kick back and enjoy, its Friday night … Bottoms Up … RH.

In the twelve months that had elapsed since the showdown in the Great Hall Ms Whitton’s loathing of Deborah had not diminished one iota. Although she showed a little more restraint in her persecution of Debs, visits to the music room were never pleasant. For weeks Ms Whitton would give Debs the cold-shoulder and completely ignore her and then suddenly out of the blue she would send her to stand in the corner for no reason at all. During one period Debs didn’t even make it to her seat for three consecutive tutorials, spending the full ninety minutes facing the wall with her hands on her head. It was extremely tiresome and Deborah occasionally retaliated. She earned herself a public flogging for letting down all four tires of Ms Whitton’s car.

Inevitably the Music Dame could not completely resist the temptation to take her violin bow to Debs bumbags. On the last lesson before the unit broke up for Xmas furlough she had fabricated an excuse to beat Deborah and to “give her something to remember me by over the holidays”.

As usual the cause of Deborah’s latest encounter with the violin bow was somewhat dubious. When Debs had arrived at the music room Ms Whitton had barreled down upon her accusing her that the knot of her tie had slipped and her top button was inappropriately exposed. Debs reached up to correct the knot of her tie fully expecting to be issued with a misconduct mark. To her astonishment Ms Whitton slapped her hand away and thrust a yellow card in her face calling her a tramp. It was a harsh call and Debs couldn’t help herself; she rolled her eyes and curled her lip in contempt. That was enough for Ms Whitton.

“Good grief,” she screamed at Debs. “I have never seen such insolence young lady. Go and put down your satchel, remove your blazer and fetch me the Morton Special.”

Deborah spread herself out across the piano stool. It was really a duet bench rather than a stool. It was twelve inches high at the leg, with four inches of hollow storage covered by a two inch cushioned seat. The seat was exactly twelve inches in breadth. The Woody Wags often laughed that Heinrich Engelhard Steinweg and his carpenters must have tested their daughters out bent over the benches as they appeared to have designed one of the perfect venues for whops.

Debs shifted her tummy forward across the padded seat until she felt as if her body was equilaterally organized. She stretched out her arms and legs until only her fingers and toes touched the wood floor of the slightly raised wooden stage. She lowered her head between her outstretched arms and watched her tie dangle forward and her hair cascade towards the floor. She took a deep breath and waited for the latest episode of the vendetta to slowly unfold.

Ms Whitton slipped an original copy of a performance of Django Reinhardt during his Quintette du Hot Club de France phase out of its LP cover and placed it on the vintage phonograph. She carefully placed the needle down and waited for the music to fill the room. She retrieved the violin bow from the top of the piano and waved it in the air, conducting the music. The occupants of the room watched her as she worked herself into a frenzied state, her arms waving, eyes closed, head nodding and her feet tapping. All the while Debs lay sprawled across the stool with her skirt turned back and her bumbags sitting up proud.

Once she had reached an appropriate level of critical spiritual mass Ms Whitton stepped onto the small stage. Without any preparation she glanced downwards and slashed the violin bow across the tautened bumbags with inspired accuracy.

The stiffness of the bow and the low sling of the bench were a lethal combination and the bow sliced across Deborah’s arse with extreme prejudice.

Deborah squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists until they ached, but her body barely twitched. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She concentrated on staying in a full drape. Under no circumstances was she going to give Ms Whitton any indication that she was hurting her.

Deborah waited for the second stroke to arrive. She tried not to be distracted by the sound of Django’s unique guitar artistry. She had to stay focused. Debs Morton had sworn a year ago that she would never again allow herself to be subjugated by the evil spirited Music Dame. She gritted her teeth and dug deep into her resolve.

Even by the Music Dame’s bizarre standards her theatrics were extraordinary. The Wacky Whackster, as she was dubbed by the Woody Wags, was waving her arms in the air and spinning like a dervish. She appeared to have fallen into a trance and to have forgotten Deborah. Poor Debs was left sprawled across the stool for over ninety seconds with her bumbags higher than her head before the violin bow exploded off her bumbags for a second time. At this rate it was going to be the longest beating in history.

Deborah’s heart was pounding. The protracted interlude between each stroke was making it extremely difficult for her to prepare herself. Canings generally settled into a predictable rhythm. The anatomy of whops was a widely debated subject amongst the facilities inmates. It was generally agreed that the timing between each stroke was a critical ingredient. In her voluminous writings on the subject of whops Deborah advocates what she calls the ‘Queensgate Technique.’

“After I entered the third form I was destined never to get less than six,” she recalls. “The President of Posh at that time was a super gal named Alison Jones, who was extraordinarily talented with the popping stick. She perfected the five-minute caning, a technique that she handed down to Pauline Gascoigne and Christy Cranfield.”

“First there was the sixty second set-up where you were in position over the arm of the popping seat with your skirt neatly turned back. This might not seem long but I can assure you a lot goes through your mind when you’re head down, arse up for sixty seconds. Next came the whops. One every thirty seconds, which gave you sufficient time to experience the full cycle of each stroke. Finally we were given another sixty seconds to gather ourselves before being given the release command. It was an extremely practical approach to caning and very fair on the recipient. We knew exactly what to expect and there were no surprises.”

The third stroke took Deborah by surprise; she was desperately trying to look back between the legs of the stool to gauge Ms Whitton’s approach but the Music Dame remained outside of her field of vision.

The only warning she got was the whistle of the bow cutting through the air, leaving her only milliseconds to brace herself. The pain imploded through her rear end and the sound of the bow slicing down across tautened gossamer echoed in her ears.

Ms Whitton stepped back. The track on the LP had changed and she was waving her arms slowly, picking up the new rhythms. She stared down at Deborah’s tightly stretched bumbags with a demented gleam in her eyes. If anything her loathing of Debs had increased since the showdown in the Great Hall. Deborah’s defiance of her and her unbridled contempt sent the Music Dame into paroxysms of ire. She raised the bow high in the air and slashed it downwards.

Deborah Morton remained defiantly stretched out across the piano stool, her body as still as a statue as the violin bow exploded off her bumbags.

Ms Whitton was determined to beat Debs bandy and Debs was equally determined to not give the Music Dame the satisfaction of showing her that she was actually causing her considerable distress.

Debs lay panting across the stool as Ms Whitton waved her arms and prepared herself for the closer. It had been an extremely prolonged beating. Deborah had been folded over the piano stool for almost ten minutes but she sensed her ordeal was drawing to a close. With incredible bravado Debs pushed her bottom up in the air and tempted her nemesis to give it her best shot.

It was an extraordinary whop by any standards and seemed designed to cut poor Deborah in two. Somehow, with white-knuckled determination, Debs Morton managed to refrain from showing any indication of the excruciating pain that was flooding through her body and seemed to have transformed her blood into molten lava. She kept her head buried between her arms so Ms Whitton would not see her face twisted and contorted in agony and anguish.

Even after she was given the release command it was some time before Debs could bring herself to push herself up from the stool. She hobbled very slowly back to her desk to retrieve her punishment record book so that the thrashing could be post-processed. It almost came as a relief when Ms Whitton instructed her to spend the remainder of the lecture standing on her chair with her hands on her head.

If you liked the extract and have finished reading the complimentary edition of Volume 1 – Whops and Clobber available in the side-bar and want to learn more about the mega-minxes from the Woody Back to School Unit then cut along sharpish to the Woodettes Storefront and treat yourself by BUYING THE BOOKS! … downloading for just $4.99 per full length book is the cheapest and most expedient way to get access to hundreds of pages of Woody fun … You won’t be disappointed … 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.