Letters from Blushes Supplement 11

Dear Sir,

I have sometimes come to the conclusion, that the cane today is used more for fun and pleasure, rather than for punishment. I am certain too that it is used far more than is realised.

For ten years I have kept a small shop, news, toys, sweets etc. Some of my regular women customers tell me that they use the cane at least once a week. Mostly it seems to be used on sons or daughters of almost any age, one or two say they use it on their husbands. One woman tells me she still canes her two daughters although both are married.

In each case it seems that the cane is used by mutual agreement, and is regarded as a bit of fun.

I keep a stock of school-type canes, and on average I sell about twenty a week. My shop is in Ealing, but I sometimes have people coming from quite a long way to buy a cane.

Mrs L.P., Ealing

Dear Sirs,

To bring up three girls almost alone is not the easiest thing one can imagine and that is the more so, if one does not want them to become cringing and stupid individuals but intelligent and clever personalities.

I am in just that sort of situation, since my husband is working on the erection of bridges and therefore very often not at home. Of course, the payment is excellent, but with him not being at home for weeks sometimes, I have all the responsibilities for our girls’ education — and that is, as all other parents, or better single parents will know really difficult.

As soon as I did realise this, I had a lot of discussions with my husband on the rare occasions when he was at home and at the end we decided to take to rather old-fashioned measures, but measures which have proved already that they work, if used in the right way. And those measures are, as will be guessed already are corporal punishment, and it is that I want to tell you about.

Over the years I have acquired a routine which is neither too elaborate nor too simple as to not have any impressive effect at all on my girls. Today, this routine is quite established and works excellent, that is has still excellent results, as nearly all my neighbours have to admit — my three girls are rather the envy of several other parents in our street.

What I call ‘my routine’ is in principle rather simple and follows a scheme I would like to describe a little bit more.

When I decide that one of the girls, Nina (the eldest), Paulette or Agnes (the youngest) needs corporal punishment again, I tell the girls this, my decision and then she knows that on the following Saturday she has to stay at home and receive her punishment which will need almost the whole day. Not that she is punished all day long, but the procedure takes some time as you will see in a moment.

On Saturday morning at nine the girl will appear in the kitchen to receive her first part of the punishment. She will bend over the kitchen table and reach for the opposite end while I raise her skirt and slip and fasten both at her waist, then down come her panties and off the suspenders of her stockings, they are put out of the way as the stockings themselves. Thus, with her bottom and the backside of her upper thighs are bared, I can start with the cane. With intervals of about two to three minutes she receives four strokes of the cane on her bottom and two on her upper thighs. My ninety centimetre cane has her into crying mostly after one or at least two strokes and with the sixth they are almost howling very distinctly. Even with the double-panes in the windows and several meters to the next house it will be not missed there when one of these special Saturdays begins. But my neighbours are used to it meanwhile and don’t care much about it as I believe. Of course, they will ask when I meet them next or they meet one of my girls but that is a sort of curiosity one has to allow for in such a small and close community as a small village is.

After about ten minutes rest to get over the most painful effects of the caning the girls will scramble off the table and without a further word necessary will turn and sit with both thighs and, of course their buttocks on the table, a position which is not one they would take from their own free will, but necessary for the completion of the first part of their punishment. Again I raise their skirt and slip and fasten both at their waist, revealing the front of their upper thighs. With their knees a foot and a half apart I have excellent access to their thighs with my strap to which I have changed meanwhile. Three strokes lengthwise on each thigh, again with about two or three minutes between, reactivate very soon their howling and change the ivory-white of their thighs to a bright red where my strap meets them. Although I see to it that my three-thonged strap does not get too near to their private parts, but even with my long experience I cannot avoid to touch them from time to time, doubling the volume as well as the pitch of their howls.

With ten more minutes rest after the last of these six with the strap, the girl will come off the table and undress — undress completely, that is. And naked as she then is, she will remain until her punishment is continued with the next part at twelve exactly. In the meantime she has either to stand in the hall at attention or she has to help me with my work in the house.

In case that more than one girl has to be punished the procedure is quite the same, with only the difference that the other one or even two girls have to witness their sisters punishments. I could also cane and strap them together but I think that seeing each other under the cane strap adds a good deal to the whole punishment.

At twelve sharp the girl will appear again in the kitchen and at once redress completely and then again the position over the kitchen table, only to get the dress pulled up and the panties pulled down to clear the area already visited by the cane for a new visit. Two weeks ago it was eighteen-year-old Nina who found herself thus prepared for the second dose of my cane, which she received with the same, or better with a little more crying and howling after each of the four strokes on her plump buttocks and the two on her full thighs. And it was she again who sat ten minutes after the last stroke of the cane on the table, legs fairly apart and waiting for the six strokes with my strap. In this position I can control very easy her reactions after the length of leather has whacked painfully on one of her thighs. With her arms resting behind her, supporting her upper body and absolutely not allowed to remove them from there, she can express pains only through her face and her tears and both tell rather plainly how much that strap does sting.

After this second six with my strap and the appropriate rest Nina had to undress again completely and continue to clean the house. I don’t make a must out of the other girls being witness to each others punishments (except for the case mentioned above) but on the other hand I make also no secret out of their punishments — if they want to witness, they can, but they haven’t to.

If my husband is at home on those Saturdays, then of course he will participate in the punishments. Then it is he who takes the cane and I use only the strap on our girls. I don’t think that there is much difference for the girls between the cane from me or their father, we both know very well how to use it to get the best result, that is the most painful weals, for that is the purpose in using a cane.

At three in the afternoon the punishment of the girls is continued — in exactly the same way as before: the girl appears in the kitchen, redresses and gets over the kitchen table; bottom and upper thighs are bared by me and the caning with the next six strokes starts — just as on the two occasions before on that very same day. And when she has received these six new strokes on her already welted buttocks and thighs it is change of position and six with the strap on her bare thighs, before — after a little rest — she has to undress again.

This undressing and redressing is an important part of the whole punishment routine, in my opinion, because it reminds the girls again and again what humiliating procedure they are undergoing and this is very much proved by their great dislike of this part of their punishments. Particularly they dislike it to hop around the house between their different parts of punishment in a complete nude state, only decorated by the increasing number of cane weals on their buttocks and thighs and the equally increasing number of strap weals on the front of their thighs. They always fear that they will be seen in that state by any visitor who appears at those times — a situation which cannot always be avoided by them and so relatives and quite close friends and neighbours have seen them on those occasions from time to time. Sometimes I even allow them to witness the actual caning or strapping, in particular if the ongoing punishment is due or partly due to an offence against that visitor, but I make no rule out of it.

At six in the afternoon the last part of the girl’s punishment begins and it differs in its routine in no way from the previous three parts. After the preliminary dressing they receive their last six strokes with the cane, again four on the buttocks and two on the upper thighs, which results in altogether sixteen weals on their bottom and eight on the thighs, all in rather different stages of their development, the ones from the morning already changing colour from deep purple and blue to a more yellowish blue, while the last ones are still growing to stand out like tramlines on their buttocks and thighs. With the six strokes on the front of their thighs with my strap, three on each, the punishment is at its end, that is the actual caning and strapping. They have to undress again and remain in that state all evening, even for supper and the state of their well caned backside and thoroughly strapped thighs is a good reminder for the other girls to keep inside their limits and do as they are told. But, of course it does not help forever — after some time they return also to the kitchen four times on a Saturday to receive their share of cane and strap.

Last year I had to punish Nina nine times, Paulette needed punishment on seven occasions and Agnes called for eight ‘special Saturdays.’ On one occasion I had them all three in the kitchen and on three occasions it was two of them. This resulted in a total of nineteen Saturdays on which cane and strap came to action — I think, not too much for a family where the main burden of education lays in the hands of the mother.

At the end of my letter I should add a last little information on myself, that is the fact that I am myself not completely unused to the cane — but that is another chapter, one I could tell you another time about. Until then.

Sincerely yours,

Dunja E., Germany.

Dear Sir,

I have been an occasional and clandestine reader of your magazine for some time now, and I find the stories and photographs very good indeed. I have always had a strong leaning towards C.P which I believe started in my childhood.

I was brought up by very strict Irish Catholic parents and right from a very early age I was no stranger to a red hot smarting-bottom. Mother smacked with all her might and I have vivid early memories of being face down across her lap with my little pants taken down to receive my just desserts for some particular act of naughtiness or defiance.

In Catholic families in those days it was a case of ‘children should be seen, and not heard,’ and also ‘spare the rod and spoil the child,’ both maxims of which my mother fully approved.

When I got older I was sent away to Convent school like a good Catholic girl should be, to be educated in the ‘proper manner.’ In those days Convent schools were much stricter places than they are today. Discipline was very strict and punishment swift and painful, for any girl who broke the rules. The nuns may have been ‘The Sisters of Mercy’, but they certainly did not show any when it came to administering punishment. It was well known by all girls’ parents that strict discipline and painful punishment coupled with a good education were the proud boasts of Our Lady’s Convent School for Girls.

The age range of pupils was ten years to eighteen years, the older girls looking very mature indeed, although all pupils regardless of age had to be dressed in the compulsory school uniform. This consisted of a white blouse, navy blue gymslip and tie, black lace-up brogues, dark stockings made of lisle, and navy blue serge blazer, and plonked on top of our heads a navy blue felt school hat with a large brim. We were not permitted to wear a bra and our underwear consisted of baggy flannel bloomers with elasticated legs and a pocket in the back for a handkerchief. All us girls hated the uniform but in those days girls did not argue with their elders and betters, they just did as they were told.

The sisters were firm and strict and punished with a vigour that had to be seen to be believed. I have seen girls of seventeen have their bloomers taken down and their bottoms smacked hard until they couldn’t sit down, for answering back or being cheeky. I have seen girls as big as young women having their knickers rapped with a wooden ruler for poor needlework like dropping a stitch or getting wool in a tangle. Many is the time my poor bottom has been smarting after a visit to Reverend Mother’s study because of naughtiness or disobedience.

The ritual was always the same; the frightened march along the corridor, the knock on the door, the waiting and finally the command to ‘enter’. I would walk across and stand before the great oak desk at which the forbidding figure of Reverend Mother would sit. Dressed from head to toe in her black habit she put the wind up me before she had said a word.

‘So been up to your old tricks again, have you Mater!’ ‘Yes Reverend Mother,’ I would stammer.

‘Well Mater, I have got something here that will correct you — the slipper; you know how a girl needs discipline.’

I knew full well what a girl ‘needed’ and I was soon to feel it. ‘Bend over Mater. Six of the best on your buttocks will do the trick.’

I then had to bend over and touch my toes, and Reverend Mother flipped up the back of my gymslip to expose the seat of my bloomers for ‘the punishment’.

You can imagine how shameful it felt for a big grown-up girl of eighteen to have to expose her drawers for a slippering, and my face was tomato red with shame. When I was fully prepared for my punishment and she was fully satisfied that all was ready, Reverend Mother would pick up the heavy rubber-soled slipper and commence the walloping. And how she walloped: it never failed to make a lasting impression on me and I well remember the smart to this day. ‘Mater, that will do you good, you wicked girl, and you will report to my study tomorrow evening after Mass, when I shall repeat the lesson you have just learned.’ I was then dismissed, so with a tearful ‘thank you Reverend Mother, for your loving correction,’ and a stiff and painful curtsey I left the room, to go and have a good blubber in the toilets, with dread of knowing that I would have to present myself for another dose of ‘medicine’ tomorrow night.

The girls, of all ages, lived in mortal dread of a visit to Reverend Mother’s study and did all they could to avoid it, including yours truly. All of the nuns were strict but Reverend Mother seemed to be the worst of the lot. My years at the convent seemed to be one round of punishment day after day. The slipper from Sister Martha-Mary for chattering in chapel, an offence which warranted severe punishment, my knuckles rapped by Sister Charity for singing too loud in the choir, my legs smacked, and smacked and smacked by Sister Beatrice for having my pigtails too loose and for having been dressed ‘like a slattern,’ because my top button of my blouse had come undone and my tie was not straight. Things which now would seem almost trivial would result in dire punishment which would have us girls sobbing our eyes out; how times have changed, and not, I am afraid to say, for the better. The school certainly was very strict, and discipline severe, but the education was second to none, so that when I left at eighteen I was sufficiently educated enough to become a member of the WRNS. The disciplined Convent upbringing was ideal for life in the services and the atmosphere stood me in very good stead for my life in the navy. Quite a few of the Wrens I met said that their upbringing, although not as strict as mine, nonetheless was ordered and firm and corporal punishment played a great part.

Yours sincerely,

Bernadette M

Dear Blushes,

Thank you for your recent issues of Blushes, Whispers and Uniform Girls, with some really excellent pictures of girls’ bums and of girls being spanked and caned.

The two pictures of the girl bending over the sloping desk, with her legs inside the crossbar to make her bottom stick out further (and hold her in place for the caning!) are outstanding.

The three small pictures in Uniform Girls of the pretty girl in shirt, black skirt and black stockings are most stimulating. First, undoing her tie, then apparently bending over the little table with skirt up round her waist and (the expression on her face suggests) getting the cane, then standing in front of the table crying, with shirt in disarray, skirt still round her waist and knickers down round her thighs. Please could we have this third picture enlarged, to whole page size: it really is a gem. Perhaps we could have more of this girl and her caning, with pictures of her (no doubt) shapely bottom.

Then there is the (black and white) picture of the girl sitting on the staircase with her knickers round her knees. Since you can hardly see the stairs, she might almost be sitting on the loo, as I asked for in my letter of 11th November.

Thanks for these and many other lovely pictures.

An appreciative reader. R.S.

Dear Sir,

You produce a fine magazine — the letters page is not the least of its attractions.

There have been several requests for celebrity fantasies but so far fewer actual examples. I note particularly that Floella Benjamin has twice been cited without either correspondent taking on the pleasurable task of sentencing her. A pity, as I feel she is long overdue for a good dressing-down.

As one of the first presenters of Playschool Floella has been allowed to exhibit her particular brand of unrelieved cheerfulness on television for over ten years now. Memories of her first appearances conjure up a picture of bra-less tits jiggling under a jump-suit or prinking nipples through a tee-shirt. Recently the Benjamin publicity machine seems to have gone into overdrive. The frequency of her television work makes Mr Wogan seem like a retiring slouch. Not only is she given every opportunity to show off in nearly all the children’s programmes on either channel but even adults now have to put up with her tiresome bonhomie.

At least one assumes that some of the recent outings have been intended for adult audiences, though they are the most trivial programmes I have ever had the pleasure of switching off. On the other side of the coin are aberrations like Fast Forward which show just how low she is prepared to stoop in order to extract cheap laughs from children. Jokes about breaking wind seem to be her speciality.

One has to admit, however, Floella is a good-looking filly with a great bum. If only the girl could learn how to behave.

How appropriate then that someone who has been associated with liberal attitudes to children should be brought to heel with the ultimate symbol of juvenile discipline — the cane. Let’s play school with Floella.

I think I would have her stark naked from the start of our little session. The only furnishing in the cold squalid room where she is to be trained would consist of an exercise bicycle, a school desk and a cane. First of all, I would have Floella Benjamin kneel on the seat of the school desk and bend forward over it. This initial position would have her clutching the front of the desk (where the ink-well and pencil-groove are), pressing her breasts against the lid and steeply arching her back. Thus her sumptuous brown bottom would be elevated as high as is practicable to be caned. As this is an extremely uncomfortable position she would have great difficulty in maintaining it — an excellent discipline in itself.

I would cane her firmly, steadily and methodically. Can you imagine her yelp of pain as the rattan swoops in and splats against the soft cheeks? Picture her squirming on the desk top, hips swaying as the pain takes grip then reluctantly resuming position for another stroke. After four punching deliveries her eyes are welling with tears — the fifth brings the first trickle down her velvet cheek. Floella sniffles and whimpers in appealing contrast to her familiar brash, extrovert behaviour. Perhaps you imagined that she would screech and cavort, rebel against the cane? No, look at her, meek as a lamb and bleating like one too. That’s because she is getting a disciplined caning. I’m under control and I’m controlling her.

Whack! One in the thigh crease produces a desperate cry. Knuckles tighten, bum lurches from side to side, but eventually she subsides into quiet sobbing punctuated with sniffs and snuffles, and her bottom re-assumes its subservient readiness for further torment.

Further torment is what it gets. A dozen would be the right sort of minimum figure for this first assault. Enough to materially alter the appearance of Ms Benjamin’s big brown bum. Thick, knobbly weals swathe the silky curves, greyer than the unmarked pastures between standing in relief from them. After having spent a good long time in that uncomfortable position Floella would move stiffly and awkwardly to the exercise bike for the next stage of punishment.

I intend to give her a hand-spanking, but I know that in ten minutes’ time the weals on her posterior will have swollen rewardingly, so it will profit me to wait until then. Rather than just let her stand in the corner, we’ll have a session on the exercise bicycle. The friction of caned bottom against hard saddle would aggravate the discomfort — and can you imagine with what intimate places of a knickerless girl the saddle will make contact? To facilitate such matters I have given the plastic saddle a thorough greasing with Vaseline.

So, for ten minutes I sit on the school desk and puff away at my pipe as I watch the weeping Floella Benjamin pedal frantically away. She has to put plenty of effort into it — whenever she slackens I take a leisurely stroll over to her and give her a couple of sharp cracks across the very top of her bum. Predictably the saddle is almost buried between her shining bum-cheeks.

Eventually a very sweaty Floella has to dismount and present her bottom to me for inspection. Indeed, as I had hoped, the cane weals have swollen up painfully. Naturally I don’t want to grease up my hands so I have taken the precaution of bringing in a bucket of heavily-salted cold water and a coarse flannel to scrub off the Vaseline from her cheeks.

Now the desk comes back into play. This time I make her approach it from the front, then lie across with her elbows on the seat. Her rump is thus well-raised and the focus of attention. I slap it hard. The sniffly grizzling which hasn’t abated since her caning now gives way to gasping squeals. Of course, a spanking is particularly excruciating when the backside under attack has been recently caned. How delicious the hard ridges feel underneath my avenging palm, contrasting with the peachy softness of virgin areas. ‘Blub, blub, blub,’ she goes as the smacking rings around the bare walls. Soon her bum is throbbing and swelling like a couple of balloons being puffed up. ‘Oh, oh, — aagh! No, no,’ sings Floella as her bum wobbles and jerks in response to my heartless assault on it. I look down at the fly of my trousers, which is under considerable strain from my burgeoning cock. It does so like to be entertained in this way. I’ll give it a real treat in a few minutes when the cane comes down off the hook on the wall and Floella Benjamin is made to realise just what extremes of pain can be generated in a girl’s arse!

So much for one over-exuberant children’s presenter. There are, however, plenty of other women almost as deserving in the media. I hope that you will print this letter and that it will inspire others to prescribe medicine for some of them. Suitable victims might be Jenny Agutter, Felicity Kendal, Stephanie Beacham, Patricia Brake…

Stephanie Beacham