Join the Dots…

From Blushes 45 featuring a young Alison Steadman lookalike. Pamel-ah!

Her proud breasts stretched tautly and she stared up at her wrists as her arms remained taut in their own act as though saluting the ceiling. Her upper torso was completely naked and the nipples on her tightly posed titties were thrusting like excited stalks from the pinky aureoles. Her high-heeled shoes helped the full expression of her enforced statuesque posture as, with ankles together, she choked back the constant threat to whimper her hopeless helplessness.

‘Are you sure you are stretching your arms as high as you can?’ his voice asked unreasonably.

‘Oh yes sir… I am, I am,’ her voice conveyed her own fear that she might displease him and that would be a situation that Fiona knew she did not want to even think about.

Please let me not fail, please, please, she inwardly and constantly prayed. To show him her anxiousness to please at all costs, she tried to thrust her wrists even higher.

The tight black stockings that encase her symmetric curvy legs were stretched tight and these in turn were clipped to a satiny suspender belt. She wore no panties but she was so far saved the full humiliation of exposing her soft pubic hair by the covering of the black lacework of the pantyhose. She felt the shock waves of nausea throb through her when the serious-faced inquisitor approached her.

Do not move Fiona, please… whatever he does, do not move; her own silent instructions emphasising even to herself the importance of causing him no displeasure made the necessary reminder that she was in no way able to prevent anything happening that the inquisitor might suggest would happen. She silently winced too. In his hand, that terrible and evil-looking tapering cane. Long and menacing. She saw how it swayed with each step he took. Its own pliancy made it a springy piece of wood. She blushed deep when he stood immediately before the blonde posed beauty. Slowly, tantalisingly and teasingly, he eased the pantyhose clear of the area that he wanted to look at. When he would turn her round later, the soft cheeks of her bared bottom would be open to his eyes; and anything else he might want to do to them.

Fiona wanted to pull away from those fingers that were even now lifting the veil that covered her modesty. She gasped because hands were fondling her breasts. She kept still. How much longer; my arms are aching! But self-discipline made her suffer the anguished pull of gravity against the limbs so forcefully thrusting towards the ceiling. The unveiling of her lower tummy did nothing to help her modesty or dignity. He stepped back after exciting the heated breasts and then without warning his right hand snaked between the now parted thighs. She gasped and he shot a glaring look of disapproval.

‘I’m sorry,’ she moaned.

It was another shameful response. She would never have visualised herself having to apologise for making some reaction to having a hand thrust in between her legs. And what was even worse, she had to push her pelvis forward in a ‘welcoming’ gesture! She felt the heated response of her heated body as fingers stroked, plucked and thrust freely where they would.

He told her to face the opposite direction and she found herself facing the blank decor of the wall. Now her bottom was under his digital control and her proud very rounded cheeks were kneaded and felt with a freedom that defied description.

‘Remember, stand still,’ his austere tone warned her. ‘You know what I am going to do, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she choked in an aggravated toned voice.

‘What am I going to do?’ he required her to express herself in a knowledge that she would prefer to be without.

‘You are going to cane my bottom,’ her own voice had now taken on a tight sound of fearful apprehension.

Not too hard please. Please don’t cane me too hard. Not my poor bum. I don’t want to be caned. I don’t want to stand so nakedly exposed… I don’t want…

‘Aaaahhh… oh… please… please,’ she screeched as the sheer hell of that first stroke ignited a sense of real stinging fire across both cheeks of her bottom.

Two… three and then four… hard whipped strokes marked thin lines across her nates… with all the will power in the world, there was no way she could be expected to stay still.

Her bottom writhed and she forgot the first principle of staying still. His snapping voice soon reminded of that first principle and as she shook in hopelessness, she reluctantly stretched her wrists towards the ceiling and the searing agony across the cheeks had to remain there without the comfort of being soothed in her own palms. Two more strokes came down and she felt the crazy sensation as she completely collapsed her resolve and sank to her knees.

‘If that is the way you prefer to be then so be it,’ he said.

She was soon kneeling upright with her hands pulled tightly behind her and this emphasised the tautness of her thrusting breasts. She was to lean forward and the shapely cones of her titties pushed before her. Her sobbing and heaving chest could not contain the gasping breath that she exhaled and then he gave her a further three strokes. When she was standing, she had sank to the floor, now she had been on the floor she wanted to retract from the posture that attracted the cane… so despite her natural objections and protests which she kept to herself. She was now standing, her hands once more behind her back pushed up and always.

‘Nooo! Oh nooo!’

The cane whipped down harshly. How many was he going to heap upon her throbbing buttocks. They twisted and writhed in sheer demented reaction and cringing response.

She knew that there would be various cruel positions and this man seemed to have sorted out a veritable studio of unnatural poses for her near naked form to comply.

When he insisted that she pose on her knees once again, he had her place her wrists between her knees and down to her feet. This bent her whole torso in a frame of further exposure. Her head was right down to the floor now, and she had to stay like that for many minutes as the inquisitor studied the chasms between her legs. He knew of a pose that would soon have that whole area fully open to his gazing and searching eyes.

The rounded moons of her bottom, now revealing the sheer state of his thrashing cane, stretched with the enforced pose of her wrists pulled between her thighs and then all the way through to join her ankles. He warned her that if she moved he would thrash her without stopping with a harsher twin leathered strap. She tried to smother the gasp that wanted to escape her when his hands traced the lines of the cane that he had put across her.

Even when his hand snaked between her legs she knew she just had to stay still and accept the liberties his palms could take with her body. The misery of her defencelessness showed on her tear-stained face. The agony of her shameful humiliation was sketched on her very soul… the obeisant manner was an enforcement that she had suggested she would rather suffer than have the wickedness that she had perpetrated revealed. She was a prisoner of her own making. Despite the terrible things that she knew she would be prepared to suffer, she also accepted that she would rather accept this a thousand times over than have him report to the proper authorities the knowledge he had of her terrible sin.

He could pose her as he pleased. He could punish her as hard as he liked and for as long as he liked and in any position he liked. He would command and Fiona would most certainly obey… unquestionably.

Her protests would have to be suppressed and only silence would be the result. She was allowed the privilege of vocally expressing the response to the painful lines, but she knew she must not under any circumstances refuse to adopt the pose to receive them.

The pantyhose had been removed and only the suspender belt, stockings and shoes remained. She felt the tension of the skin from her shoulders, down her back and then the tightened tautness of the striped cheeks of her bottom. There was that swishing sound that she had come to recognise as the forerunner of streaking pain lines. She was not mistaken. The same searing pain seemed to burn an indelible line once more. She could not jump up and her writhing body wriggled so that she lay on her side.

‘Stay like that for a moment. Now pull your hands round to your back’ he snapped.

Laying like that, she slowly pulled her hands round to her rear. She had now been enforcedly forbidden to touch her own bottom and the need to just lay her cool fingers on the bare flanks of her arse was a highly desirable action. She did not touch her bottom despite that urge to do so. This exposure of her tummy was once again enhanced as she cringed inwardly, but only inwardly from his rudely inspecting eyes. She had never felt so utterly open and his eyes revealed nothing to her; whether he found her desirable or whether her naked body caused him pleasure, just nothing.

Then he was telling her to lay on her back and this time she was instructed to pull her knees up to her chest but once again the arms were placed between her legs and stretching down to the ankles. This caused the most humiliating pose so far because now the soft-centred vulva was open fully to all that he wished to see.

She choked when once again, a hand was placed on the very exposed region of her body. She just had to lay there feeling the lava of heated shame build up inside her. She did not want her body to respond to this demanding hotness. The sizzling condition of the heat that seared and blistered became a blending of passion and pain all at once. Fiona was in that tormented state of loving the passion and hating the pain. Fingertips were able to stroke and penetrate the tight sucking tube of her sex mouth and she knew that if this went on for long then she would have no choice but to fully surrender to the thrilling sweetness that was not taking over where the pain had left off.

But she knew that there was still a number of strokes to come and she felt as though hot wires had been drawn across her bottom.

‘You have been very naughty,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry… I’m truly very sorry,’ she sobbed.

‘And all naughtiness must be punished.’

‘Yesss… yes, sir,’ she could only agree.

‘By a good tanning on your bare bottom.’

‘Yesss… yes, sir… l knooooww,’ she was not sure what he was driving at… all she could think about is the way she was actually trying to make her vulva area more accessible to him!

‘Do you think you have been punished enough?’ he asked.

Fiona’s instinctive warning system sounded alarm bells. Bells telling her to be careful how she responded to that one.

‘I… I don’t know, sir. I… I don’t know,’ her voice sounded like a tightened octave simply because of the sheer delight she was feeling oozing from her body.

She did not want to feel the sexual heat building up. She only wanted him to tell her that the punishment was over. But he ceased his administrations to her vulva and Fiona immediately thought that she might prefer him to continue for a little while.

Standing again. Once more the full stretched pose… facing the wall again and now the sizzling lines had slightly diminished pain but were throbbing still to keep her mind firmly aligned to the task of being disciplined for being so naughty.

He was standing next to her and his hand was fondling the aching breasts that had seemed to grow heavier by the second. Even when his hand stroked down to the hot spheres of her burning bum, she knew she must keep them roundly pushed back.

‘Very well… for the final part of your punishment,’ he said.

Oh Lord. No more. Please. Please. My bottom is too sore… there is too much pain in it, she prayed.

This was not strictly true. Fiona certainly had taken some strokes, but that had been some fifteen minutes ago… the cheeks of her magnificent arse had settled down to a steady throbbing hum.

There was a swiiish… there was a thwacckk, and there was a wail of pure helplessness to defend. The naked torso started to writhe again. The hips thrust in a harsh movement from side to side and then she was bucking her torso backwards and forwards in a piston movement. Just in time, her bottom thrust back and the cane caught the cheeks at the further roundness of her backwards thrust.

Another wailing sound… another enlivened movement of pain-striped buttocks and the whole exercise was about to start all over again.