Bankable Spankable Assets! Part 1

Story from Roué 15, following the further adventures of St Angela’s alumna Julie Williamson (Room 2D Continued and Episode at St Angela’s)

Dedicated readers may recall in Roué 8 the interview which Julie Williamson had with Mr Martin, the Head Office Manager of an old established, well-known city bankers, Boutts Bank. In spite of the somewhat personal, probing nature of the interview, our Julie emerged with flying colours and was immediately offered the most desirable post of Personal Assistant to Mr Martin!

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A large parcel arrived for Julie on her last Friday at St Angela’s. Opening it, she was thrilled to discover that it contained the official Boutts Bank uniform for which Mr Martin had so diligently and painstakingly measured her. Almost reverently she laid out the garments on her bed in the dormitory and gazed at them in awe before folding them lovingly away in her suitcase. Since her parents lived up North it had been decided that Julie had better remain at St Angela’s for that final weekend and travel down to London by the early Monday train, in time to arrive at Boutts by midday, when she was officially due to take up her duties. Thenceforth she’d be living at her aunt’s in Wimbledon.

She’d be sorry to leave her pals in 7B — particularly Tina Dorset, naughty little tomboy of the form who scarcely went a day without getting the cane for some misdemeanour or other, including decapitating the Headmaster’s favourite geraniums! And then, or course, there was Hazel Lysle (whose girlish charms were so liberally displayed in Roué 12!). On hearing Julie’s good news about the job, Hazel had remarked:

‘Gosh, Julie, how absolutely super. So it’s the big, wide world for you! Just think, no more horrid spankings and canings! No more beastly navy-blue knickers!’

But little did Hazel or Julie realise the bitter truth in the old adage: ‘Once a St Angela’s girl, ALWAYS a St Angela’s girl!’ How it came about that Julie Williamson entered the world of banking with a sinking heart and a sore red bottom, it is the purpose of this narrative to relate.

By seven o’clock Sunday evening, Julie had bathed, washed her hair and packed. She’d already said her goodbyes to the staff — Mr Payne, whom she respected greatly, included. It had been an affecting farewell between them. The Headmaster had solemnly shaken her by the hand, warned her against the foul, execrable temptations of the flesh that lay in London — and suggested he cane her, just once more for old time’s sake! She deemed it wise at that stage to beat a hasty retreat.

A taxi had been ordered to whisk her off to the station at ten-past six next morning — when most of St Angela’s would still be fast asleep. Meanwhile, Julie had ample time on her hands before turning in for bed, and she succumbed to the temptation of trying on her Boutts Bank uniform. She’d been dying to do it all weekend, and now seemed the ideal opportunity while most of the school were off on a nature walk with Miss Davies and Mr Moore.

Her outfit was indeed splendid, and consisted of black pencil skirt, which looked as if it might be fairly tight round the buttocks, plain white blouse with the Boutts Bank motif tastefully embroidered on the right breast, and black bolero jacket to match the skirt. Julie sat on her bed, clasped her hands under her chin, and regarded her new clothes with great satisfaction. It made her glow with delight to think that Mr Martin had ordered the garments especially for her.

‘Quiet, docile, conscientious, altruistic,’ her school reports had always pronounced her. Julie was, and had always been, a good girl. No trouble to anyone. Still, that hadn’t prevented her from receiving a knickers-down caning at the hands of Mr Payne just before the Easter holidays. Julie was still trying to work out why he’d done it — her utter naivety with respect to the male sex was one of her most endearing qualities. Really, she couldn’t but think that sometimes Mr Payne punished girls for no apparent reason at all! But since she had always regarded him as a kind of father figure, she thought none the worse of him for that. That’s why she’d taken so readily to Mr Martin. She’d immediately recognised another potential father figure who would take over from where Mr Payne left off. A stern but kindly man to control her, and guide her through life’s vicissitudes!

And he seemed incredibly solicitous about her appearance — he’d even provided her with underwear. How nice! Sweet little nylon knickers (three pairs); delicately lacy bras to match; a frilly white suspender belt, too, to hold up one of the six pairs of black seamed stockings. Slipping on the stockings without laddering them, and attaching them to the suspender belt in such a manner that the seams at the back were perfectly straight might, she surmised, prove problematical — so she resolved to get in some practice straight away. Having first removed all her school clothes — underwear too — she sat down naked on the edge of the bed and tentatively pulled on the stockings. Then she discovered that she’d forgotten to first fasten the little suspender belt around her waist… but while attending to this the stockings meanwhile slipped down to knee level! Her first attempts to attach suspender straps to the sheer stocking tops were singularly unsuccessful. But eventually she mastered the difficult art. Next the little white knickers, filmy and tight, then the pencil skirt, slit up the back. This took quite a bit of wriggling to get into, and the back button proved quite tricky. Finally the bra, blouse and jacket — and lo and behold, a fully fledged Boutts Bank girl! But Julie still had doubts about the straightness of her seams. The only answer lay in a full length mirror. She remembered there was one in the next dormitory, and was on her way there when she bumped into Mr Evans who, as usual, was prowling the corridors on the look-out for miscreants and rule-breakers. He took one look at Julie and decided that she’d do for a start.

‘Out of school uniform, eh, Julie? Slinking off to see your boyfriend, are you? Such disgraceful conduct will bring you to a bad end, my girl! So it’s your END I’d better deal with! Come with me!’ And he marched the protesting girl along the corridor and down the stairs to the room that all the girls dreaded: 2D. It all happened so quickly. Evans was so brusquely overpowering that poor Julie immediately felt guilty, even though she knew she’d done nothing!

‘But sir… I… I start work tomorrow! In the b…b…bank! This is my new uniform… I…I was only trying it on, sir!’ In vain were her halting explanations. Once Evans had made up his mind to punish a girl, nothing — but nothing — could come between him and his goal. One Speech Day he’d administered a sound spanking to Lady Caroline, the cool, svelte nineteen-year-old daughter of the redoubtable Duchess of Pemberley (who’d been invited down by the governors to present the prizes) on the mistaken assumption that she was a St Angela’s pupil! He’d caught her crossing the front lawn — an activity strictly forbidden to the girls. Much to the amazement and horror of the assembled guests and parents, he’d simply hoisted up the girl’s pretty summer dress, yanked down her red nylon panties, bent her over his right knee, and smacked her little white bottom until it more than matched the colour of the knickers she’d been wearing, and until she was howling, most unaristocratically, like a very Red Indian! Lady Caroline had found it both painful and highly embarrassing — particularly when she caught sight of her boyfriend gazing in unabashed fascination at the spectacle. She’d never allowed him to touch her above the knee, let alone see her bare bottom! She nearly died on the spot! The man must be a raving lunatic!

Fortunately it all turned out well in the end. Her mother, the Duchess, when told of the incident, found it most amusing and said it would probably do Lady Caroline a power of good!

‘My father used to spank me regularly. In front of the servants, too! Never did me any harm — in fact I quite missed it when he stopped doing it!’ And her eyes sparkled with the memory of it. She even asked to be introduced to Evans in order to congratulate him personally on administering a much-needed dose of stiff discipline to her spoilt, pampered daughter. Indeed the Duchess, a charming, elegant lady in her early forties — sadly widowed — had quite a tête-à-tête with Evans, which ended up with him being invited to Pemberley Hall on several occasions. No one seemed to know quite what took place on these visits, until Mr Pink noticed how depleted the cane cupboard in 2D had become.

Yes, old Evans was truly unstoppable. Poor Julie Williamson didn’t stand a chance. Her fate was sealed the moment Evans thrust her into 2D and locked the door behind them. The only doubt that remained in her mind was whether she was going to be spanked or caned. She thought she’d prefer to be caned, since she associated spankings with the humiliating punishments of childhood. It would be such a horrible indignity, an outrage to her blossoming womanhood, to have to go across Evans’ knee and get her bare white bottom soundly smacked by that great big rough hand of his! Besides, he always took liberties. His fingers would go exploring all the little intimate girlish secrets that lay between her legs. She’d inevitably end up stickily wet and panting. THAT she found terribly shaming, especially as it took place during a spanking! She’d been brought up  to think of spanking as punishment, so to experience little oases of pleasure amidst the pain and discomfort of a rapidly-reddening rear well, it was enough to confuse a girl, good and proper. No, she’d rather be caned — at least she wouldn’t get touched up!

‘Please sir,’ she begged miserably, ‘I’d rather be caned than spanked. I’m too old to be spanked.’ And she tried to defend her position by looking Evans straight in the eye. But she quailed immediately before his icy, contemptuous gaze, and lowered her eyes to the floor, blushing profusely. Evans chuckled humourlessly at the temerity of Julie in daring to dictate terms to him.

‘Rather be caned than spanked, would you? Well well, there’s bravery for you! However I shan’t disappoint you miss, I intend to both spank AND cane you! Might as well make this an occasion to remember if you’re leaving us tomorrow. Send you off with a spring in your step, so to speak!’ And he rubbed his hands together at the prospect of what lay ahead. Julie was already fighting back the tears of shame and humiliation that gathered in her big blue eyes at the thought of being spanked in her brand new Boutts Bank uniform. That uniform, to her, symbolised a new life, away from St Angela’s and the punishments of childhood. Evans seemed to be able to read her mind.

‘Well, let’s have a look at you, Julie. So this is your bank uniform, eh? Strikes me it’s a little bit on the provocative side for a bank! That skirt — it’s far too tight. It accentuates your bottom — clearly defines your two cheeks! And it shows that you’re wearing stockings not tights — I can see the outline of the tops of your stockings, and where your suspenders meet them. I can see you wreaking havoc in that bank, Julie, wiggling that little bum in front of the customers. They’ll be queuing up for service at your counter for sure! But what sort of service, I wonder? A businesswoman is supposed to look discreet and elegant, Julie!’

‘But sir!’ protested Julie wearily, ‘these are the clothes my new employer sent down for me to wear!’ Evans was slowly but surely eroding her resistance. She got the impression that he was enjoying cross-examining her. That tell-tale bulge had already begun in his trousers. Julie went all weak-kneed and trembling in anticipation of the severe punishment she knew she was about to receive.

‘No, it’s far too tight, that skirt!’ Evans barked. ‘You won’t be able to pull it up above your waist, so you’d better take it off completely!’ Julie knew better than to argue. Her hands went to the button at the back. The skirt was indeed a very tight fit around the waist and hips, and Julie had quite a job to undo the button, but once accomplished, the zip below it gave her no trouble. To pull the skirt down over her hips she was obliged once more to wriggle sexily. The skirt clung to her so tightly that when she did manage to peel it off, the new little nylon knickers came down with it too! Poor Julie! There she was, deprived of all maidenly modesty, her soft blonde bush invitingly revealed — like a virgin forest about to be plundered. Even at this early stage in the proceedings, Julie felt a strange paradoxical mingling of shame and arousal at the thought of Evans feasting his eyes on her.  She turned away quickly and presented to him her white, pristine bottom — firm, smooth melons, with the deep division between them. To completely remove her skirt she had to bend down and lift out each leg in turn. As she was doing this, Evans caught tantalising glimpses of absolutely everything she had to offer between her legs. Evans, too, was compelled to turn away quickly, lest she notice his erection. He was pulsating with excitement. Julie laid her skirt neatly on the table and hastily pulled up her filmy white panties so that they preserved, however fleetingly, whatever modesty she had left.

Evans plonked himself down on one of the several wooden chairs conveniently provided in 2D, and impatiently beckoned Julie over. Nervously she approached him, eyes lowered in the direction of those coarse tweed trousers, and the erection hiding inside them. Throughout Julie’s schooldays at St Angela’s, whichever male member of staff had spanked her (and there’d been spankings a-plenty!) they’d always had erections if not at the commencement, then certainly at the conclusion of the exercise. By a process almost Pavlovian in its conditioning, Julie had come to associate tears and a sore red bottom with a rigid, throbbing male member digging into her belly, or even lower down. Like all good St Angela’s girls, she’d learnt to accept it as all part of the natural punishment routine, and she’d never questioned it at all from a moral angle.

She did once broach the subject, albeit rather hesitantly, to her mother one summer holiday. But her mother just stammered out some evasive remark, then hid her embarrassment in a display of maternal aggression that ended up with Julie getting her ears boxed, her bottom smacked, and being sent supperless to bed. All that for daring to suggest that the St Angela’s male staff actually enjoyed even the punitive aspects of their work! Adults could be very strange creatures sometimes!

But, shame upon shame, now that Julie was virtually an adult herself — eighteen next birthday — here she was about to be treated like a naughty little twelve-year-old! She stood next to Evans on his left side. He was a left-handed spanker. In his cricketing days he’d proved to be a useful slow left-arm spin bowler and a ferocious batsman — ‘Slogger Evans’ they’d dubbed him. Indeed, more than one girl had ruefully remarked, while rubbing her sore behind, that Mr Evans seemed to have transferred his erstwhile cricketing prowess to his spanking activities!

Julie was now poised to go over his lap, like a high diver about to commence her downward arc. She was a pretty girl of about average height, her blonde hair was long and curled naturally. She’d made herself up with skill and finesse — particularly around the eyes: big, blue, doe-like eyes they were — perhaps her most appealing feature. She had quite narrow shoulders, dainty, elegantly moulded arms, and beautiful long fingers with immaculately painted fingernails. Even painted fingernails were, technically speaking, a flagrant breach of school rules — bank or no bank. In fact it wouldn’t have mattered to Evans if she’d been going to receive an OBE from the Queen the next day! The girl was still going to get her sexy little bum tanned! Her breasts were small and firm, and they made their subtle presence felt beneath her crisp white blouse. The blouse ended just below her waist, barely concealing the lacy little white suspender belt which hugged her lovingly and accentuated the erotic swell of her buttocks. The diminutive knickers from the back looked positively indecent. There were so tight that they were constantly working themselves up into the division between her cheeks, and they were so abbreviated that they didn’t begin until halfway down her bottom, just about covering the cheekiest part of her derriere — that part that most men love to fondle, pat and pinch.

During her years at St Angela’s, Julie had come to loathe and detest the regulation navy-blue knickers provided by the school for its pupils’ bottoms. She’d longed and longed for the silky caress of nylon round her loins — yet here she was desperately wishing she was back inside a pair of thick navy-blues for all the protection they’d afford. Her flimsy little white panties were going to provide no defence at all! And this sentiment was apparently shared by Evans, since he didn’t bother to tell her to take them down. He liked the look of them — they made a refreshing change from school-issue ones. Spanking Julie Williamson over the seat of her frilly nylon knickers would awaken fond memories of the Speech Day when he meted out that highly public spanking to Lady Caroline. Now that had been an experience to remember! The girl hadn’t enjoyed it one bit, and had never spoken to him since — but her mother! Ah, that had proved quite a different story. He’d broken more St Angela’s canes than he’d care to remember across the lavish curves of the Duchess’ aristocratic rump! That naughty, titled lady of mature years positively adored being made to feel like, to quote her own words, ‘a naughty young filly’ again! The canings she’d craved for had been of a severe and prolonged nature. Even the mighty arm of ‘Slogger’ Evans had ached considerably after delivering them. Still, he’d always been amply rewarded.

He looked up at the waiting girl standing obediently beside him, and patted Julie’s right buttock-cheek in a sudden gesture of impatience to begin. He gave an upward tug to the waistband of the knickers so they were lodged tightly in her cleft and deeply engaged in her bottom crack. This left her white girlish cheeks almost completely exposed to the solicitous attentions of Evans’ big, rough, horny palm.

Down across his lap she came. She was quite a tall girl so she was able to brace herself with her hands on the highly-polished chequered tiles, her high-heeled shoes prevented her from gaining firm purchase on the other side, so she kicked them off and pressed the soles of her stocking-clad feet against the floor, until she resembled a tautly bent bow. Julie was a sensible, practical-minded girl. She knew she’d start to twist and wriggle once the spanking began — she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Last year, while being spanked by Mr Harris, she’d struggled so much that she’d fallen off his lap and bruised her chin against the base of a table leg. Ever since then, she’d made a point of settling herself securely over whichever male lap she’d been ordered to go. These very qualities of initiative, circumspection, and attention to the finer details would surely stand her in good stead at the bank! Mr Martin had indeed chosen wisely.

One thing about Evans. He was no pussyfooter when it came to spanking a girl’s bottom. No gradual build-up, no gentle introductory ‘tap-taps’ for him. No lily-livered consideration for the girl’s feelings by distributing the smacks over a wide surface area — and thus diluting the pain. No sparing of a girl’s modesty! He pulled Julie even further across his lap and made a point of instructing her to ‘Stick your bottom well up, girl!’ so that her nether regions were fully and shamelessly displayed. Her secret little vale of sensual delight came into view, hardly concealed at all by the flimsy nylon gusset that seemed to draw even more attention to the glimpses of fleecy pubic curls and dark little orifices that lay beneath.

He felt her heart going nineteen to the dozen. Her blonde tresses hung down over her face, hiding her maidenly blushes. Her hands clenched and unclenched digging her elegantly manicured fingernails deep into her palms as she prepared to fight off the imminent waves of pain and humiliation.

‘Oh please Mr Evans, sir, not too hard, sir! It’s my first day at work tomorrow! I’ll be muddled and confused as it is, without having to cope with a sore bottom!’

But even as she spoke these words, she knew it was hopeless. Trying to stop Evans was like drawing a piece of thread across the path of an oncoming express train. So she shuddered, and resigned herself to arriving at Boutts Bank tomorrow and facing her new boss with the additional handicap of an aching, scarlet, well-spanked derriere. She remembered in horror something Mr Martin had said. Something about how she’d have to spend her first day down in the Stack Room, sorting old documents; and how she’d be issued with light-blue nylon overalls because of the dusty nature of the work; and how, because the girls found it so hot and sticky down there (it was next to the boiler room) they were not only recommended, but INSTRUCTED on grounds of hygiene, to remove skirts, blouses, even knickers! And if those overalls just happened to be transparent (and she’d no reason to suppose they weren’t) then not only Mr Martin, but the entire staff of Boutts Bank would no doubt be inventing excuses to troop down to the Stack Room and observe the crimson, wealed bottom of the new employee!

With a contemptuous snort Evans dismissed all Julie’s pleas for clemency. His right arm tightened in an iron grip around her waist, while his broad, paddle-like palm rubbed and kneaded every square inch of her buttocks, testing their resilience. Julie was indeed the possessor of a most delightfully spankable bottom. It was graceful and petite but, owing to the slenderness of her waist, it seemed to swell out and curve quite dramatically. It was proud, firm and saucy. If ever a bottom deserved to be soundly spanked it was Julie’s. Sweet little blonde down grew just where her bottom divided — making it appear all the more virginal and unravished. He put his hand between her cheeks and traced his index finger along the taut nylon gusset until he encountered the little narrow valley of her labial contours. As Evans crooked the tip of his thick podgy digit Julie gasped and jerked her hips forwards towards the hard ridge beneath her soft belly. After a few seconds she lay still, apart from an involuntary wriggle, utterly resigned as his finger began Mr Evans’ usual routine of teasing and prodding her into sexual arousal. After a minute or so she could no longer suppress her excitement, and she began to rock back and forth across his lap, shamelessly obeying the powerful urges Evans was engendering in her.

Julie began to pant and moan deliberately pushing her soft pubic mound onto his erection.

Mr Evans leaned back a little, content to hold Julie loosely down on the now rock-hard ridge, knowing that she would be unable to stop wriggling, now that she was past the point of no return.

Julie could do nothing about it: she hadn’t really got a clue about what was happening to her. She was a good girl — too shy to have had much to do with boys — and she’d never dared to explore her own body. Lots of girls in her form masturbated. She’d heard them moaning at night from adjacent beds in the dormitory. Some even owned vibrators, despite the risk of being severely punished if found in possession of one. On more than one occasion she’d been offered the use of one: ‘Go on, Julie, try it! It’s nice!’ But she’d always refused. She’d always entertained the naive, girlish ideal of ‘saving herself’. But for what? For Mr Evans? The night before her big day at the bank? With a start, Julie realised that Evans was talking to her in urgent, hoarse tones:

‘Julie, you’re a very naughty girl to get so excited. I’m really going to punish you for this! I’m going to spank this saucy little bottom of yours so hard you won’t be able to sit down at all tomorrow! How are you going to cope if they put you on the cash counter, eh?’ He was taunting her mercilessly. ‘They won’t approve of you dispensing cash standing up! The customers will complain, and I shouldn’t be surprised if the manager has you in his office to personally investigate the reason why!’

Evans was determined to humiliate Julie completely before he spanked her, and he began to speed up the action of the teasing fingers. Julie’s low moans of shame grew and grew in intensity and frequency, and she began to wriggle like a fish on a line, her hips weaving frantically as her pert young bottom pumped up and down on her intruder’s, the entire gusset of her flimsy knickers stickily sodden from back to front.

As her legs went taut, and the rigid tensions of her climax came over her, she shuddered ecstatically, and without knowing why she was doing it, as if in a trance, her lithe body trembling, she began to cry. A gleam came over Evans’ face, a smile of deep satisfaction, he didn’t often make Miss Julie Williamson come so strongly, and as she lay there, still, hot, wet and exhausted, he let her shamed trembles calm a little.

His lust unassuaged, Evans began to spank her hard and fast.

He knew Julie well enough to realise that only a good hard spanking would help her to atone for the ‘guilt’ of her ‘naughtiness’ across his lap. He concentrated on the fleshy lower part of her left buttock. Smack after smack after smack rained down on the same area. Expertly, Evans cupped his hand so that maximum flesh contact was made, and 2D resounded to the crisp, gunshot-like reports. Julie had a soft, delicate bottom, unblemished by moles or freckles, and it very soon reddened up most satisfyingly. It didn’t take him long to get her crying again.

The truth was, Evans had broken Julie’s resistance even before he’d begun smacking her. He’d teased her into, what was for her, alien sexual territory, and had thereby stripped her of her veils of girlish modesty. She had nothing left to hide behind. It had all been so horribly embarrassing and intimate. A sound spanking after that would come almost as a relief — painful as it would no doubt be! Appropriate and well-merited now, in Julie’s eyes. Evans was quite right. She knew she had been a ‘naughty girl’ to let her feelings run riot so. She felt she thoroughly deserved the strict punishment now being administered to her — and if it made her cry, so much the better! Perhaps the tears would help wash away the awful shame and guilt. She thought she’d better let Evans know how she felt, but it was difficult to talk while being spanked because each bottom-stinger seemed to strike at the very core of her being, and create a sensation of profound disorientation. But she somehow managed to gasp out:

‘Please, sir… OUCH! I want you… OUCH!… to spank me… OUCH… really hard… OUCH! I know I’ve… OUCH!… been naughty and wicked… OUCH! Please don’t… OUCH!… stop… OUCH!… OOOH!… AAARGH!!’ And once again she dissolved into sobs and tears as her left buttock began to acquire a dark, angry, crimson hue. Little rivulets of penitence ran down her face and wet the floor as she desperately tried to get up off Evans’ lap. But Evans was proof against all female blandishments, and he insisted on planting twelve more resounding smacks upon that sore, maidenly behind, before he allowed her to scramble to her feet bawling her heart out and weeping copiously.

He made her go and stand in the corner while he deliberated what to do next. She made a pretty picture in rumpled white blouse, pathetic little knickers practically disappearing up her bottom crack, and wrinkled nylons that by some miracle had not laddered. Gone was the sophisticated Boutts Bank girl he’d encountered in the corridor! In its place was a well-spanked, snivelling, blubbering teenager.

He made her put her hands on her head, causing her blouse to ride high above her suspender belt. Her whole body was wracked by sobs. Her left buttock resembled a Turner sunset! Deep red blotches — even finger weals — mapped it out as Evans’ property for that night, and indeed for many days to come. Quite openly and unashamedly Evans admired his handiwork. But he hadn’t finished with her yet. He wanted Julie to arrive at the bank tomorrow with the St Angela’s trademark stamped all over her: compete docility and submissiveness, all hint of truculence totally erased. And there was only one instrument to ensure that Julie learned this final, bitter lesson — the cane.

With that in mind, Evans ordered the weeping girl to divest herself of every stitch of clothing. Off they came. First her blouse. Slowly, unwillingly, she undid the buttons down the front and slipped the garment off her shoulders. Then the lacy white bra. Beautifully ripe, firm breasts came into view, heralded by fresh tears of shame from their luckless owner. She peeled down her knickers — a painful operation. Stockings, too, and finally suspender belt. Penitently the tear-stained girl stood naked before him, her hands shielding her pubic zone, until Evans slapped them away…

He positioned her carefully over the desk, legs slightly apart, bottom fully exposed and uplifted. She drew deep agonised breaths and clutched the far end of the desk for support, while Evans went to the cane cupboard — returning with a suitably swishy instrument of correction. It was unfortunate for Julie that he’d spanked her left cheek, because anyone who’s wielded a cane knows that a girl being punished by a left-hander is bound to bear the brunt of the attack on that same cheek.

SWIT! Poor Julie nearly leapt a foot in the air as the cane made its cruel contact with her well-spanked bottom. It sizzled and bit into her left cheek, causing her to yell in dismay. This was AWFUL! By far the worst punishment she’d ever had in her life. Evans, true to his word, was making it ‘an occasion to remember’!

Five more ‘SWIT’s followed in rapid succession. Evans was not a man to beat about the bush. Julie acknowledged the delivery of each stroke with almost operatic fervour. Perhaps she’d missed her true vocation in life? Maybe she should have studied for La Scala, Milan!

There’s something very sexual about making a pretty girl submit, naked, to a school caning. Perhaps it’s the punishment posture she’s made to adopt? Bottom raised high in the air, offering itself submissively to the male. Deliciously symbolic of the rear entry position? Who knows? It’s embedded too deeply within our sexual folklore for us to really come to a rational judgement.

All that can be said in this instance is that the sensual attractions of poor Julie’s gyrating, cane-wealed, and hand-spanked buttocks were not lost on Mr Evans. As he put the cane away, he remembered it was her last night at the school, it would be the last chance he would have to do something he’d wanted to do for years — the risk? He knew his little Julie — her parents weren’t seeing her for a month or two and she’d be too ashamed to tell her aunt in Wimbledon about it.

Julie cried as she received the last dose of the ‘stick’ — sobbing bitterly as he made her come again…

After Evans had helped her to dress and as he stood aside to let her leave 2D for the last time, he couldn’t resist one parting remark.

‘Well done, Julie… aren’t you glad you came!’

The further adventures of Julie Williamson are detailed in Bankable Spankable Assets! Part 2, Ninth onthe Agenda and Customer Relations at Boutts.