Letters from Blushes 18

SORRY WE ASKED

Dear Editor,

In response to your solicitation of my opinion of the photographs which you sent me. I shall state my detailed criticisms.

In the first place, I think it unseemly that any young woman should be punished in a bathroom-cum-lavatory. Her indignity is surely sufficient at being punished at all. Why over lard it with these sordid surroundings? In my view a special room should be set aside for punishments. Ideally, this room should be bare-walled and should contain a firm table or desk, a trestle stool and a solid leather chair of the old-fashioned kind. All these are most suitable for placing the culprit upon to receive her just desserts.

I do not consider a towel-rail a suitable object over which a girl should be placed for punishment. It is neither stout enough nor strong enough to withstand her contortions if the punishment is of any sort of severity. Admittedly the object raises the girl’s hindquarters admirably but that is not everything. The object over which the girl is placed must be capable of withstanding a considerable degree of violence. A girl being thrashed can become exceedingly mobile.

The paramount redeeming features of this series is the excellence of this girl’s bottom; I can only describe its shape and quality as superb.

What magnificent swelling curves! Rarely have I seen buttocks more perfectly formed to receive chastisement. They swell, they thrust, they positively invite. The tightly-pulled frilly white knickers only add to their enchantment.

What a fortunate man to be able to make such a sumptuous rear-end writhe with pain. To crack his cane down again and again. Until she is truly contrite for her misdeeds.

In so many ways (apart from location) they are admirable. I have adulated about the girl’s bottom but her expressions are also worthy of comment. Her distress before her punishment, her torment during it. Excellently portrayed.

I like the black stockings and suspender belt very much. The saucy white knickers could scarcely be bettered.

Next time, can we have her bent very tautly over the end of a solid table, with her bottom quite bare? It certainly deserves further exposure and, I am sure, further treatment! Can’t you do it a little better in that direction next time?

 

FACT AND FICTION

Dear Sirs,

I wonder if your readers would be interested in a little story which I would like to relate. It is a fantasy, but it has its origins in a real life situation which concerns myself, (a young company director) and a vacancy for a clerk typist.

The company I work for is quite small, and the office is, therefore, manned only by myself and my co-director and senior partner. We have a part time secretary of rather mature years who of late had become somewhat feeble and unreliable. In view of this, and the fact that I was having to do more clerical work than I wanted, we decided to retire the part-timer and advertise for a full-time young person to do clerical work and typing.

As my partner was not too concerned whether the applicant was young, old, ugly, attractive or whatever, as long as she could do the job, it fell to me to do the recruitment. This was a most enjoyable diversion for me as I am young and single and do not usually have much contact with young women in my working environment.

The local Job Centre sent a steady stream of young girls along, and I must have interviewed about a dozen on the first day. Most were quite attractive, some very much so, all were smartly dressed, and most seemed capable of doing the job, which wasn’t that demanding anyway. I made a shortlist of three and called time on the interviews.

Disappointment

What happened next was a disappointment for me. My boss suddenly decided that we couldn’t afford and didn’t need a full-time clerk-typist. Also the part-time lady decided she didn’t want to retire. So, that was that, fait accomplit, cancel the whole project. End of story? Well, not quite. The experience triggered off a fantasy in my mind which frequently recurs and varies only slightly every time. It goes like this:-

It’s quite late on the afternoon of the day I’m conducting the interviews. My partner has gone home and I’m alone in the office. I’m about ready to call it a day when the phone rings and a female voice says she’s just heard about the job and could she come for an interview.

‘OK,’ I tell her. Might as well see one more. ‘What time would you like to come’

‘Well I could pop along now if it’s not too late,’ she says. ‘Yes; that’ll be fine,’ I say.

As I await her arrival it passes pleasantly through my mind that I have, or will have a certain amount of power over these young women. There is a very high unemployment in this region and this is a good position with good pay. It occurs to me for the first time that some girls might be keener than others to impress. Keen to offer certain… favours, perhaps? ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I say to myself, ‘the old casting-couch, for a typist’s job?’ I had to smile to myself. Little did I know I was about to be pre-empted.

Superb Legs

She knocked and entered. We introduced ourselves and she sat down opposite. I was glad I had decided to see her. She was wearing a leather skirt that was quite short and she had really superb legs. I love to see girls who wear sexy clothes especially if they’ve got the figure and the looks to go with it. And this one certainly had.

I gave her a description of the job and we chatted for a while. From what she told me I was pretty sure she would be able to cope with the duties involved.

‘Is there anything you would like to ask me?’ I asked, as I usually do to bring the interview to a close.

She paused and looked downwards. I looked downwards and my heart rate almost doubled. I had been concentrating hard as I do in interviews, watching the applicants’ faces, thinking of questions to ask, mentally noting their reactions. I think I was more keyed up than they were.

So I hadn’t noticed that her skirt had ridden up. Or she had pulled it up. Not very high, but higher than before.

‘I really want the job,’ I heard her say as I prised my eyes away from her perfectly-formed teenage thighs. She was only nineteen. ‘And I’m prepared to go to certain lengths to get it.’

The skirt had risen again. In theory her underwear should now have been visible, but her thighs, which were tightly pressed together, seemed to go on forever, leaving that final modesty undisclosed.

‘Er, really,’ I managed to say eventually, ‘and what might those lengths be?’ I didn’t dare look down again. She probably had no skirt on at all now.

Underwear

‘Well I happen to know that you like girls to wear a certain type of underwear…’ I couldn’t believe this was happening.

‘Well,’ I began, ‘All men have their pref…’

‘…plastic underwear,’ she interrupted.

I was dumbfounded. How could she know? No-one knew. Oh God, was she blackmailing me?

But how could she know?

It was true of course. Well everyone has their fantasies, although I must admit I was a bit ashamed of this fetish. I hardly dared admit even to myself that I would love to see shapely young girls wearing a pair of waterproof pants. I have been fascinated with the idea all my adult life, and I am reminded of it every time I see these pants advertised in the small ads in the newspapers.

Setting aside the worrying mystery, for the moment, of how she knew, I thought I might as well carry on to the next stage.

The skirt was even higher but she had her hands between her legs so I could see her pants. But I wondered.

I am a very cautious person by nature and I knew that I was in a very awkward situation. If anyone found out about this I would not only be embarrassed I would be a laughing stock with the consequent loss of my job and my integrity. However; she was here; I was here, and I could throw her out or I could give her the job.

Why not give her the job? She could do it. And she would show me her knickers? Is that what she was saying?

‘I don’t think I quite follow you,’ I lied.

‘Well,’ she continued. ‘as I’ve said I want the job and I’m prepared to wear any kind of underwear you like during office hours. It’s as simple as that.’

Plastic Knickers

Thinking about it I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t that unusual. In lots of other jobs, poorer paid ones at that, girls had to wear uniforms, often designed by men, often very unflattering and even uncomfortable. And this ‘uniform,’ wouldn’t even be seen, except, hopefully, by me. But even so… plastic knickers… was she serious?

I shook my head in disbelief. The daft thing was I would have given her the job anyway.

She smiled, ‘I don’t think you believe me do you?’

She took her hands away from between her legs, giving me a very brief flash, then she stood up and pulled her skirt down. I was disappointed, I thought she was about to leave.

‘Are you serious?’ I asked, not wanting the idea dropped now.

‘Let me give you a demonstration.’ So saying she turned round so she was standing about three feet away with her back towards me.

‘I’ll show you the back,’ she said calmly, ‘these things are semi-transparent and I’d like to retain some modesty…’

‘You mean you’re wearing them right now?’ I gasped. A fantasy was being acted out right before my very eyes. I wondered if she knew what this was doing to me. There was no turning back now, my eyes were fixed firmly on her bottom and I think I was pretty close to fainting.

‘Ready?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

She reached behind her and placed her palms flat on the back of her thighs over the skirt.

Ready

‘Ready,’ I breathed.

She gathered the material of her skirt in her hands and slowly pulled and worked the tight fabric right up to her waist, exposing her underwear.

She was indeed wearing a pair of medium-size incontinence pants made from soft, thin white plastic. The design of these pants is that they are made fairly large as they are meant to have absorbent liners underneath. They are nothing like the modern bikini-briefs that girls wear nowadays in that they do not have the cut-away legs and they are fairly high-waisted. As a result, the pants in question enveloped this young lady quite securely from the tops of her legs to just about her waist. The tightly-elasticated legs and waistband ensured that no air could get into the pants, which was obvious from the way they were sticking to her bottom.

All too soon she flipped her skirt down again and sat down.

‘Jesus Christ,’ was all I could say softly. ‘Well, do I get the job?’ She looked a bit flushed. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘start at 9am tomorrow… but tell me how long have you had those pants on?’

‘All day actually… well, since about ten o’clock this morning. I wanted to see whether I would be able to stand them for a whole day.’

This was a big turn-on for me. I hoped I could get her to talk freely about her underwear.

‘What do they feel like?’ I ventured.

She stood up momentarily, reached under her skirt and re-adjusted them as though I had reminded her of her discomfort. Then she sat down again. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs as we talked. I hadn’t noticed her doing this before, she must have been very uncomfortable.

‘Well they are uncomfortable. After an hour or so you get used to them though, and I’ve found today that they haven’t got any worse after several hours than they were after one hour. They stick to me though, especially when I’ve been sitting down. Then when I stand up I tend to pull at them to get them off my bottom. I’d better try and get out of that habit, it might be embarrassing when other people are around.’

‘No,’ she summarised, ‘they’re not unbearable. I suppose if I am just sitting thinking about how sticky I am inside them I’d get pretty fed up, but as long as I’m doing something to take my mind off them then I think I’ll manage OK.’

She shuffled around on the chair, and said, ‘I’m a bit fed up with them now actually, but it is time to finish work so I will soon be able to take them off won’t I?’

‘Of course,’ I assured her, ‘what you do or wear in your own time is entirely up to you.

‘Hot’ Pants

‘Right then,’ she stood up, ‘can I go now?’ I bet she was dying to get out of those hot pants. ‘Yes of course,’ I opened the door for her.

‘See you tomorrow then.’ ‘Yes, goodnight.’

I watched her walk along the street, savouring the notion that I was going to dictate what kind of underwear a nineteen-year-old girl was going to wear. I couldn’t believe my luck. After years of fantasising, a facility had suddenly been offered to me that many single men could only dream about.

But there was more to it than that, I reflected as I drove home. I realised I really liked the girl. There was an endearing sort of simplicity and directness about her that was almost childlike at times, yet, paradoxically she also seemed to have a very capable, self-assured air about her just at the right moment. And, surprisingly when I considered the scene enacted just a short while ago, there was nothing sluttish or common about her. She had showed me her knickers in a strange, matter of fact, even innocent way like a child at the doctor’s, not like some nymphomaniac giving me the easy lay.

It really was tremendously exciting. Yes, I was looking forward to tomorrow, though I knew my concentration would never be quite the same as long as she was around.

I had a sleepless night, thinking about her. She really had made an impression on me, and not just because of her underwear. I was glad when it was time to get up and go to work. I arrived earlier than usual as she did not have a key to the office and I would have to let her in, also, and more important, if we were both there before the boss I could have a quick check of her underwear. After all, we had made a deal and I was going to see she stuck to it. ‘Bad word,’ I told myself.

Actually, I thought as I drove to the office, I hoped she wouldn’t wear the miniskirt for work. It would be too distracting for me, and the boss would think I had just hired her for her looks. And anyway, I didn’t need to see her legs… I could get all the kicks I needed just from the knowledge that she was wearing waterproof undies.

Demure

I needn’t have worried. She arrived, on time, dressed demurely in a medium length skirt and smart white blouse.

‘Good morning,’ I beamed. ‘Hello,’ she smiled. She looked very attractive. Different somehow to yesterday, perhaps it was her hair, yes she had swept it back from her face which made her face look slightly rounder but more appealing somehow, like a small child, innocent and eager to please.

‘There’s only us two here at present,’ I hinted, ‘my senior partner won’t be in till about nine thirty.’

‘Oh,’ she said. She seemed a bit nervous. I looked at her expectantly. There was a pause, then she realized and said, ‘Oh yes, of course, you… you er want to check me over?’

I nodded. It was going to be even better than yesterday somehow, to be invited to look under that prim little secretary’s ensemble. She started fidgeting with her hands, and became very embarrassed. However, she took hold of the hem of her skirt.

‘No,’ I stopped her, ‘Not here, we’d better go into the rest room in case someone comes in.’

She followed me into the rest room and I shut the door.

‘Do you want to see the front or the back?’ She asked. ‘I’ve seen the back,’ I told her.

Obediently she reached down and lifted the front of her dress right up, showing her lovely legs, and, of course the same, or similar plastic pants as before.

‘Could you, er, just move your legs apart slightly?’ I asked her.

I thought that I would have been able to see through the loose, semi-transparent plastic where it was gathered between her legs, but there seemed to be a sort of panel in this area where the plastic was a bit thicker. Unless she was wearing something underneath.

She obliged me by standing with her legs further apart. This tightened the material over her pubic area, and I could just see the faint outline of what I was looking for, in the centre of an area that was, of course much darker than the remainder of that covered by the pants.

‘Are these the same ones as yesterday?’ I asked. ‘Yesterday’s covering seemed more see-through.

‘No, I put some different ones on today,’ she admitted, ‘these are similar, but they have a panel at the front and back to hold the absorbent liners. Is that all right?’

‘Yes that’s okay… er, are you wearing anything underneath the pants though?’

Nothing Underneath

‘No, I didn’t think that was allowed.’ She was amazingly subservient. A real natural submissive. I could foresee a great future for this relationship. I suspected that there was more to her willingness to wear the pants than just to get the job.

I completed my inspection of her knickers, which you would think would be terribly embarrassing for her but she didn’t seem to mind. Not that she was brazen or shameless, she just made it seem quite normal somehow, like showing the teacher an essay she had written and listening attentively while he appraised it.

While she dutifully held her dress aloft, I noted that the inside of her pants was already misted with her girlish perspiration, even though she had probably had them on only an hour or so. One could only imagine the heady, female-scented atmosphere that the cruel plastic would generate as it sealed and confined her charms for the next eight hours.

How I longed to put my hand inside and feel for myself the effects of such a garment, or to touch and rub her through the thin material and possibly add to the girlish secretions which would remain trapped within.

However, the telephone was ringing, there was work to be done, and we just re-assembled ourselves in the main office in time before the boss came in. From then until lunchtime it was all work. There was typing to be done, for me and for the boss, which she performed splendidly, and then there were various office routines such as wages and book-keeping which I was to teach her to do.

Obedient

She really was a most endearing and charming young lady, and she was keen and willing to learn or do anything she was told. She was subservient and very obedient, but not stupid, and she had a way of letting her natural cheerful personality shine through, even whilst busily learning or performing her office duties.

In short, she proved to be an absolute treasure. By the end of the first week the boss and I wondered how we had managed without her. Also it was good for me to have company in the office, as the boss goes out a lot, and she proved to be an excellent companion. We were often very busy in the office, and there is nothing worse than somebody who chatters away all the time, but it was never like that with Mandy. We had a sort of rapport right from the start, with me teasing her or making a joke if she made a mistake, not that she made mistakes all that often. We concentrated hard on our work when we had to, then we’d have little impromptu breaks for a chat and a cup of tea or coffee.

Routine

So, things settled into a comfortable routine. Well, perhaps not quite so comfortable for her, considering the ‘uniform’ she was obliged to wear. She dutifully continued to wear her plastic pants day after day without complaint. I hardly needed to check to see if she was wearing them, but I continued to make regular inspections when things were quiet in the office. She was always willing to discuss her underwear, and she told me that she had completely got used to the pants now and even quite liked the feeling of ‘security’ they gave her. Also she had lost some weight off her hips and bottom which pleased her. This was probably as a result of being so hot inside them every day. I often wondered if it wouldn’t be harmful for her body to be wrapped in plastic for such long periods but she said she hadn’t suffered any ill-effects, other than the slight discomfort.

‘After all,’ she pointed out, ‘lots of people have to wear these pants for the real reasons, so they can’t be that bad for me.’

She now owned about half a dozen pairs of these pants, which she had bought with money I had given her. Sometimes she would put a pair on at home before she came to work or sometimes she would bring them to work and change into them in the toilet. At the end of the day she often changed out of them before going home and one day I got her to give me the pair she had been wearing all day, I gave her a plastic bag and asked her to put them inside and hand it to me after she had changed. I could hardly wait to get home with them and had a very exciting evening examining the inside of her knickers.

On the subject of evenings, mine were getting lonely and boring sometimes, so after a few weeks I asked Mandy to go out for a drink with me. It went very well and we went to a disco afterwards, ending up with us both being a bit hungover the next morning. She really enjoyed it and we got on very well so we started courting on a regular basis.

Cruelty

For me it was the start of a fantastic relationship. I soon became completely infatuated with her, and that has never happened to me before with any other girl. We were always together, and she must have liked me a lot, because she would do almost anything for me. As I’ve said, she is very submissive and she let me treat her very cruelly when I wanted to. She would wear any sort of clothing and underwear that I asked her to and I spent a fortune on kinky clothes and devices. One evening for example, we were in a disco and a girl came in wearing a really short mini-skirt made of black plastic. I was really excited by this and resolved to buy one for Mandy the next day. Not only did Mandy agree to this, she even went over to ask the girl where she had bought it. She got one the next day and came to my house in the evening, wearing it and she looked fantastic.

Though I loved her, I couldn’t resist being cruel to her, and sometimes I would really humiliate her and do things to make her really embarrassed and uncomfortable.

On one occasion, we were just sitting watching the television at my house. I was a bit bored so I turned to Mandy and said simply, ‘stand up Mandy and take off your skirt please.’ She took it off. She was wearing stockings and suspenders and a pair of nylon panties. ‘Stay where you are,’ I told her. I went and got a broad leather belt and put it round her waist. I kept tightening the belt round her waist. She made no attempt to stop me, she looked uncomfortable but she said nothing and let me continue. I gradually tightened the belt until I couldn’t get it any tighter and fastened it securely.

Her waist was drastically compressed and she was struggling to breathe properly.

Gasps

‘Does that hurt?’ I asked her. ‘Yes,’ she gasped, ‘why do I have to wear it so tight?’

‘Because I want you to,’ I told her. ‘I want to reduce your waist Mandy so you will wear this tight belt as long as I want you to.’

‘It really hurts,’ she said pulling at the belt to try and loosen it.

‘Stop it Mandy or I’ll make it even tighter.’

She was silent.

I stood behind her for a few moments, looking at her superbly narrowed waist.

‘Unfasten your brassiere,’ I commanded, ‘and then put your hands on your head and keep them there.’

I sat down on the settee and pulled her down on to a stool in front of me so that she was sitting in between my legs with her back to me. I pulled her close to me and put a hand over each breast. She gave a little sigh and wriggled her bottom on the stool.

‘Keep still!’ I warned her, ‘and keep your hands on your head.’

I began to massage her breasts, gently at first, then more firmly as she started to respond and move in rhythm to the massaging and squeezing. As I did this I spoke softly in her ear, telling her to keep as still as possible, which was quite impossible for her of course, because she was getting very aroused.

After about ten minutes she was moaning softly and wriggling in ecstasy. I took my hands away from her breasts and turned her round on the stool. Her eyes were glazed and her face was flushed with excitement.

Naughty Girl

‘Mmmm,’ she said dreamily, ‘can I put my hands down now?’

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?’

‘Mmmm, no,’ she pouted, ‘I kept as still as I could, but it makes me feel all funny when you do that to me… oh and this belt’s awful, can’t I take it off now?’

‘I’m not talking about that Mandy,’ I said, ‘I’m talking about your panties, look at your panties, Mandy, and then tell me you haven’t been naughty.’

She looked down. Sure enough there was a damp patch that was spreading outwards from the gusset of her knickers.

‘I know,’ she sighed softly, ‘I felt it happen. I’m sorry but I couldn’t help it.’ She loved to be humiliated like this. I started to rub her through her soaking wet knickers and she went wild.

‘Take them off, take them off me,’ she begged, ‘Please!’

The game was now forgotten, except for the tight belt which was still in position. I wondered how she could breathe for it, especially in her excited state.

I made love to her with the belt still in place.

‘You bastard,’ she said softly, afterwards, ‘I bet you really enjoyed feeling that belt fastened round me while we were doing that, didn’t you?’

I was surprised at her language. ‘Mandy!’ I exclaimed, ‘don’t swear, it’s very unladylike. Really girl, you’re going to have to learn some discipline.’

‘Discipline.’ She said mournfully, ‘I hate that word… it usually means I’m in for something very uncomfortable.’

And how right she was. In the months that followed, Mandy was disciplined, and it proved to be very uncomfortable…

…to be continued.

K.M. of Cleveland

P.S. If not interested in publishing the written text, can I respectfully suggest that a photo-sequence with one of your lovely models depicting the story would look fantastic.

We’d love to see the rest of the story, K.M., and promise to illustrate it with exactly the right kind of pictures and the right kind of girl.

 

AT HOME

Dear Editor,

As an occasional reader of Blushes, I happened to see your Issue 15. I was amazed at the letter from Edna-Maria H. of Bonn as I thought that I must be the only person in the world who was treated without any regard to modesty or privacy. At twenty five, I am a little older than her daughter and it is not my parents but Uncle John and Auntie Mary who ‘Keep me in order.’ It is Uncle who buys Blushes and it is his copy I am sometimes able to read.

It is several years since I made a break of living on my own and was invited into this house. My aunt approves of Uncle’s actions in disciplining me. Although she does not take part, she is often around to see what is happening. She smiles gently at my distress and says that it is only what I deserve.

Expected

It was made clear to me before I went to live with them that discipline and obedience to Uncle’s ways was to be expected. First of all, I must never lock a bathroom or bedroom door when I am inside. Someone, usually Uncle, may want to come in to see what I am up to, or how I am getting on. My state of dress or undress does not matter. Quite often Uncle will come in while I am having a bath and make sure that I am washing myself properly. This is the one time that I would rather have private and to myself. He will make me stand up in the bath and wash between my legs and in my bottom which he watches.

Auntie regularly goes through my drawers to ensure that I have not bought anything which has not been approved. I did once buy myself some nylon briefs but I could not sit down comfortably for a week after they were found. A reminder was given to my bottom for the following four nights and I do not want to go through that again.

What am I punished for? Even at my age there are many things that I can do wrong. Being cheeky or rude, leaving my room untidy, being unladylike (that covers an awful lot) wetting my knickers or getting brown stains in them, not getting up when I am called, disobedience and worst of all telling lies.

Unlike Edna Maria’s daughters, I am not shaved as part of my punishment. I am kept free of pubic hair all the time. At one time I was allowed to shave myself, but after being accused of not doing it properly two or three times, Uncle took over the task himself. Once a fortnight, on every other Sunday evening, Uncle tells me to fetch the shaving gear. A shaving brush and razor, a towel, a bowl of hot water, a flannel and after shave lotion.

Off comes my dress and my knickers, leaving me in

Wide Apart

my petticoat and, for the moment, with my secrets hidden — but not for long. I have to put the towel at the edge of the table, to leave half of it hanging down. Lifting my petticoat at the back, I have to sit on the towel at the edge of the table and lie back lifting up my legs. My bottom is on the towel and my legs are high and wide apart where I have to hold them.

Standing below me, Uncle has a good view of, and access to every private part of me. At least I wish it was private. Like that I have no secrets. He washes me and dries me with the end of the towel hanging down. Then he soaps the area with the shaving brush. It’s only a fortnight between each shaving, so there is no great bush just a stubble beginning to grow. The razor comes into me and I am bald and smooth once more. The soap is washed away and the area dried. Then the aftershave is applied on the area. I don’t know what eau-de-cologne feels like, but it can’t be as bad as aftershave lotion. I know I wriggle and squirm as it is being applied. I can’t help it. The stinging is dreadful, especially when it gets in places that it was never intended for. It’s very difficult not to hold onto yourself when it is stinging like mad down there, but it looks so unladylike that I try very hard not to do it. Not always successfully, I must add. Tears run down my face whether or not I hold between my legs. When I calm down, I am allowed to dress again properly. It won’t be long before I am sent to bed whatever the time.

As for punishment, that can be at any time. Especially bought for me, is a ‘good’ school cane. It is kept in my bedroom hanging on the dressing table mirror. I’m told that it is there as a constant reminder of what can happen to me and it certainly is. When informed that I am to be caned, I have to undress and then fetch it. Undressing means taking off my frock or skirt and blouse. I do still have a petticoat on, but no woman likes walking around the house in her underwear. Standing in front of Uncle, he tells me what my punishment is to be. It’s usually something like four on each hand and twelve on my bottom. Often I start to cry at that point and he pats my shoulder saying something like ‘there-there you’ll feel better when it is all over.’ At that I am expected to kiss the cane and put it on the table ready for it to be used later.

Uncle’s Whims

How long I have to wait depends on Uncle’s whims. I sometimes have to do a few jobs like laying the table for a meal or doing some dusting and cleaning. Occasionally it is the ironing that needs doing. I have even had to sit through a meal with the cane in front of my place. My table manners have to be immaculate if I am to avoid further strokes. The time for caning is getting close when I am sent to stand facing the wall. Hands on head like a little schoolgirl, I wait in trepidation for the rattle of the cane as Uncle picks it up.

Pulled to the middle of the room, I hold out one hand at a time. He gives me two on each palm before I change hands. I dare not move my hands, but I cannot help bringing my knees up in anguish. My hands feel as though they are on fire when he has finished. There are a number of things a girl can do with her hands in that condition. She can blow on them, hold them trapped between her knees or thighs, put them in opposite armpits or put them gently on the curve of her bottom or her breasts. I have tried all and some seem to help very much.

Correction Time

A few minutes and it is correction time. Lifting my petticoat, I have to get into our armchair facing the back. My knees are spread, one on each arm and I lean forward and over with the back supporting my hips. It is a most undignified position and it’s not easy to find anything to hold onto. I always need help getting up afterwards. Uncle folds my petticoat well up over my shoulders and I am ready. Wide open and thoroughly ashamed of myself, it seems to be what Uncle wants.

Bottom Up

I feel my bottom being tapped with the cane as Uncle takes aim. That waiting period always makes me twitch. Then there is a pause as the cane is lifted. How I manage to keep myself positioned during that second or two, I do not know. Any boy or girl who has been punished with a cane or strap will know what I mean. The orders are to keep your bottom up and you know that it will only be worse if you don’t, but you are in a position of offering your rear end for a stinging attack on it. How I wish that I had never misbehaved in the first place.

The first stroke swishes down and the awful stinging starts. My comfort has gone and there will be pain and smarting in my rump for the next hour or so. Very often it will be sore for some time. The shock is never over before the second stroke arrives and at that I start to cry. As the caning continues my bottom starts to swerve. I can’t help it, but it brings quiet little commands from Uncle like ‘keep it still girl’ or ‘Get your bottom up, good.’

Howling

At last it is finished, I can climb off the chair, howling and wiping the tears from my face whenever I can let go of my bottom for a moment. If I could run and hide in my own room it would not be so bad, but I have to last out that agony with Auntie and Uncle watching my antics and contortions. Hands trying to comfort a sore bottom.

No top clothes and now no knickers, I go back to the wall as soon as I have regained a little of my composure. I must stay very still until they decide it is time for me to go to bed. It can be any time during the evening from about 7pm onwards. Someone will fetch a nightdress for me. Not a long one but a transparent baby-doll sort. The type that have panties to go with them, but I’m not allowed the knickers. In front of them I have to change into that, ready to go upstairs.

Hugs and Kisses

Before I go, I give Uncle and Auntie a big hug and kiss. I do love them despite it all. Both pat my bottom, bare of course because my nightie is so short. Thanking Uncle for my punishment is automatic and somehow I really do mean it. Carrying my clothes and the cane, I go up to bed. I shall have to spend the night lying on my tummy. Uncle will come in to inspect my bottom when he goes to bed but if I am fast asleep I shall not even feel him lift the bedclothes as he does so. It is all over and there will be a fresh start the next day, but of course the other embarrassments and humiliation are always there.

I seem to have rambled on and written a very long letter. Perhaps it should have been shorter, but that is just how it came out of my mind. Uncle and Auntie knew that I am writing this letter to you and are quite happy about it. They ask me to tell you that girls and young women are only as big as they act and should be treated accordingly. I cannot say I disagree, but I wish that they realised that I am grown up now.

Yours sincerely,

Anonymous

 

ACTUALLY PUNISHED

Dear Sir,

I have noticed a letter in a recent issue which referred back to a letter in an earlier issue, discussing a young typist who was spanked by her employer. A photograph appeared with this letter, of a girl bent across a desk with her knickers down. The editor’s comment says that you would appreciate more material of a similar nature, so I wonder if you would be interested in more of the enclosed photos, taken surreptitiously so far as the girl is concerned, although with the knowledge of the gentleman. I have several hundred, the subject being the same girl although photographed on numerous different occasions. I should mention that the girl is actually being punished; the pictures are in no way posed.

Would you be interested too, in an account of the circumstances under which the photos were obtained? I am a keen amateur photographer and could also give some details as to how the pictures were taken, bearing in mind the obvious need for secrecy in the taking. I imagine that you would not require a Model Release Form to be signed, since the girl was unaware of the camera; I am afraid that in any case I would be unable to supply one.

Perhaps you would consider making an offer for prints of my collection, even if you do not wish me to write anything.

R.M.A., Bedfordshire

Readers are advised that an offer has been made, and an agreement concluded with R.M.A., and his photos will be published some time in March, together with the full background to the story.