End Piece

From Roué 43 with Lucie Martin. There was a second photo-set in that issue that was apparently unattached to any story (as was Roué’s wont) and also featured the gamine Lucie, so I’ve included that here too as a bonus.

Sharon eyed the elderly man questioningly. As if reading her thoughts, her grandfather repeated the instruction. ‘Take off your tie, you silly little girl. Surely even you can understand a perfectly simple order such as that?’

She had understood the order alright, but what she didn’t understand was the reasoning behind it. Why on earth, she asked herself, was it necessary to take off one’s tie for a spanking?

Appreciative of the damaging effects this procrastination might have on her bottom, Sharon’s hands went to the knot of her school tie, loosened it and cast it to one side.

‘Good,’ her grandfather announced chirpily. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it?’ The sarcastic tone didn’t go unnoticed by the girl. ‘And now,’ he continued, ‘we’ll have your blouse off.’

In the few seconds’ pause before the last statement Sharon thought she may have hit upon the need for her tie to be taken off prior to her spanking. Perhaps, she mused, it was so that she didn’t throttle herself during the punishment. This last order, however, made her think again.

It also served to make her think of the implications involved in complying with such an instruction. The fact of the matter was — as was quite often the case — she wasn’t wearing a bra. Such bare-breasted audacity would not, she felt sure, go down too well with the old man. But, apart from this — and of more importance to the girl — was the fact that she had no wish to display her titties to her aged grandad. She decided to call a halt to the proceedings. Putting her hands defiantly behind her, she shook her head.

Sitting at the foot of the four-poster bed, Sharon’s grandfather crossed his knees. ‘My dear girl,’ he began with a sigh, ‘when your parents called upon me to take care of you this weekend it was stressed to me that I should stand for no misbehaviour from you. You will recall, I’m sure, that on their departure your father informed you that if you give me any trouble whatsoever, I was to see to it that your bottom paid the price for your naughtiness. You do remember his words, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Well? Go on?’

‘I… I don’t see why I should have to take my blouse off to be spanked, grandad.’

‘Ah! I see,’ came the old chap’s response. ‘Permit me to explain, my girl?’ There was a longish pause as he chose his words carefully. ‘Corporal punishment is a tried and trusted method of correction for wayward youngsters such as yourself. There are, I admit, many people nowadays who do not approve of its use. I — and your caring mother and father — do however. And I — along with many others, though perhaps not your parents — am firmly of the belief that for corporal punishment to be as beneficial as possible, there is a need for it to involve humiliation. It serves to make the whole episode more significant… more meaningful and, when it is over, much more memorable. So, what better way is there to humiliate a naughty schoolgirl than to have her strip down to her undies in front of her chastiser?’ He paused awhile, taking note of Sharon’s facial reaction. ‘Well, my girl, the situation having been explained to you, will you now be so good as to take off your blouse?’

Sharon was in a quandary; should she do as he had asked and risk giving him a coronary when her bare boobs met his gaze? Or should she explain that she was a liberated young lady and therefore was not wearing a bra. The latter seemed to her to be the better plan of action.

‘Grandad…’ she said rather sheepishly, her feet shuffling and her head bowed in shame.

‘Yes, Sharon?’

‘There’s something you ought to know?’

‘Well? Out with it, girl’

‘You see… I… I don’t have anything underneath my… er… my blouse?’

‘Tut-tut,’ he intoned with mock severity, ‘we are a naughty girl, aren’t we? Not to worry; the order still stands. I’ve seen many a girl’s… er… bosoms — though not I admit for some years. I doubt whether you possess anything that would shock me. Let’s have it off now, shall we?’

Slowly and with great deliberation, Sharon unbuttoned the garment. With the blouse at last off her shoulders she held it to her teenage breasts and turned her back on the old man before tossing it into a corner of the room.

‘Shy, aren’t we?’ he observed with a smile. ‘Very well — now your skirt.’

Instead of taking the skirt down over her hips, Sharon decided to lift it over her head, and did this with her back still turned to her grandfather. Dressed now in just her white knee-length socks and regulation navy-blue school knickers, she stood, apprehensively awaiting the next order.

It was a long time coming. Sharon leant against one of the bedposts while her grandparent sat gazing at the back view of the naughty seventeen-year-old. Her little feet and lower legs were neatly encased in the white cotton socks. Above these her legs travelled up as they filled out into a firm pair of young thighs. Sharon’s bottom was covered by her cotton pants, thinner and considerably less baggy than the type worn by schoolgirls in his day and age.

The days of his youth also came to his mind as he took in the view of the girl’s bare back. How times have changed, he thought. Had his granddaughter been born fifty-or-so years earlier and had parents such as his, she might well have often stood here in this very room, her back bared for punishment. Of course, in those days the underwear — should she have been allowed to retain any of it — would have looked quite different. The punishments too would have been notably dissimilar to that which he was about to administer to her.

As he had frequently seen his sisters punished, Sharon would have had her wrists tied with a cord to the bed post, her arms having been drawn high above her head. The maid-servant would then have been called upon to kneel at her feet and ensure that her legs did not move during the correction. The many-thonged leather whip would then have been produced, and the naked back of the miscreant would have undergone several punishing lashes before she was let down, the thrashing at an end.

Yes, the old boy mused, things certainly have changed — perhaps for the better; for he was most definitely not of a mind to so punish his favourite grandchild. The buttocks, he told himself, were what God in his infinite wisdom had provided for chastisement and it was of course this portion of the young Sharon that was to be attended to.

‘Turn to face me,’ he told the girl. There was no movement — save for a little shuffling of her feet. ‘Did you hear me?!’ he snapped.

Slowly — ever so slowly — Sharon turned, her hands crossed in front of her covering her pert young breasts.

‘Hands at your sides,’ came the next instruction.

‘But, grandad…’ Sharon protested.

‘Come, come, young lady. What is all this fuss about?! I seem to remember that you weren’t nearly as coy with that young lad I found you with in the potting-shed. If my memory serves me well, I believe recalling that when I made my unexpected entrance your partner-in-crime had his busy little hands inside your blouse — fondling the very things you are so keen on covering right now. It is indeed fortunate that I turned up when I did; there’s no knowing how far things might have gone had I not?’

‘Y-you won’t tell mum and dad, will you, grandad?’ she enquired anxiously.

‘My dear Sharon,’ he replied, ‘if I am nothing else, I am a man of my word. I said that if you accept a hiding I wouldn’t tell a soul?’ Sharon’s face lit up slightly. ‘But don’t,’ he continued, ‘for one minute think that I am doing it for your benefit. The only reason I am not informing your parents about the regrettable incident is to save them from the awful shock that their darling daughter would even think of indulging in such a disgraceful act.’

Sharon gave a little smile and nodded her head. She then let her arms drop to her sides, displaying her teenage titties.

‘Hmmm,’ came the old man’s reaction, ‘you really have developed into quite a young woman, haven’t you?’ he observed, causing a slight blush to come to Sharon’s cheeks.

The acutely embarrassed girl was then asked what type of punishment she felt her behaviour warranted.

‘A… er… a g-good hiding, grandad,’ she replied in a whisper.

‘Yes — we are in agreement so far,’ he said. ‘But I asked what type…’

‘I… er don’t understand the question, grandad?’

‘It’s perfectly simple, Sharon,’ he told her, ‘a spanking for instance…?’

‘Er… oh, I see. Y-yes — a spanking, grandad.’

‘Do you think that such gross misbehaviour calls for something more severe?’ he asked of her.

‘I… er… no, grandad.’

‘But I do!’ he announced and silencing her protests with a wave of his hand, added ‘Yes, I am fully aware that your father gave me permission to spank you, Sharon — but being in a state of undress with a young lad in the potting-shed justifies a far stiffer penalty than a bottom-smacking. You must agree, my dear, that it was a particularly despicable thing to do… otherwise why would you be so insistent that I spare your poor mother and father the details?’

‘But dad said…’

‘Very well,’ he cut in, ‘we forego the punishment and I’ll report the matter to mum and dad, shall I?’

‘N-no, grandad! You promised?’

‘Only if you agreed to a hiding, Sharon.’

‘But I thought you meant…’

‘You thought I meant a spanking… like daddy gives you. Well, naughty little Sharon had better think again, hadn’t she? For if you want me to keep this a secret you must submit to whatever punishment I decide to give you. Understood?’

She was trapped. She knew that if her parents were informed it would result in more than a spanking, but the attendant shame would be too much to bear. Reluctantly she nodded her head, then lowered her eyes.

There was movement. Her grandfather was reaching underneath his pillow. She looked up and caught sight of a long, whippy cane. He was talking again. She was being told to bend over the foot of the bed. Unable to take her eyes off that cane, Sharon found herself moving robot-like into position. Her knees were on the carpet and she was bending over her grandfather’s four-poster. She wasn’t able to think straight. She could hear the old man’s voice, but what was he saying? Something about the taking down of knickers…?