Natürlich war Kathie (wie ihre Wirtsleute sie nannten) heilfroh,
solch eine preiswerte Bleibe gefunden zu haben. Als junge Studentin
von grade Mal 18 Jahren konnte sie schließlich keine großen Sprünge
machen. Und dass der pensionierte Studienrat Dr.Drescher ihr gleich
angekündigt hatte, dass sie bei dem geringsten Verstoß gegen die
Hausordnung eine Tracht Prügel beziehen würde, hatte sie nicht
sonderlich abgeschreckt. Sie war streng erzogen worden und hatte ja
schon zu Hause von ihrem Vater und ihrem Onkel gelegentlich Prügel
mit der Hand oder dem Rohrstock bezogen, davor war ihr nicht so sehr
bange, wichtiger war es allemal, solch eine billige Unterkunft für
die Zeit des Studiums zu ergattern. So lange hatte sie in Frankfurt
vergeblich danach gesucht und nichts gefunden, und jetzt fing das
Semester an, sie brauchte die Wohnung UNBEDINGT....und schon beim
Hereinkommen kam ihr eine hübsche Studentin entgegen, die sich auch
grade um das Zimmer beworben hatte. Darum sagte Kathie, als das
Thema auf die Hausordnung kam nur mit gesenktem Kopf und möglichst
demütiger Stimme: „Ich werde ihnen und ihrer Frau sicher keinen
Anlass dazu geben, mich zu bestrafen, Herr Drescher, ich
versprechs...“ Herr Drescher machte zwar ein sehr strenges Gesicht
und hatte ihr zusammen mit den Worten „Na, dann willkommen, Kathie!
„ auch gleich einen derben Klaps auf den Hintern verpasst –
aber da machten viele Männer bei ihr seit sie in die Pubertät
gekommen war: ihr Vater, ihr Opa, der Besitzer des Lebsmittelladens,
in dem sie jeden Tag einkaufte, ja sogar einmal der Herr Pfarrer mit
hochrotem Gesicht, als sie sich vor ihm bückte, kurz nachdem er sich
tadelnd über ihre hautengen Jeans und ihre kurzen Röckchen
ausgelassen hatte ...Wahrscheinlich lag das einfach daran, dass sie
ein sehr „weibliches Becken“ bekommen hatte, wie ihr Onkel sagte,
ihr Popo wölbte sich sehr einladend vor, schien eine züchtigende
Hand geradezu einzuladen.
Schon am ersten Wochenende kam es zur ersten Züchtigung! Dabei
hatte Kathie doch gar nichts wichtiges ausgefressen – so
glaubte sie zumindest, aber Erziehungsberechtigte oder
Respektspersonen sehen das ja bekanntlich anders – Sie hatte
in ihrem Zimmer geraucht, was wegen der teuren Tapeten und der
Geruchsbelästigung strengstens verboten war.!Jedenfalls ließ Dr.
Drescher nicht mit sich verhandeln, blieb allen Bitten der jungen
Studentin gegenüber taub und legte sich auf die Alternative fest
„Entweder Du ziehst die engen Jeans aus, Fräulein, oder DU ziehst
selbst aus!“
Sie entschied sich seufzend für das erstere und
streifte wie sie es von zu Hause war etwas mühsam die enge Hose
herunter. Dr. Drescher auf der Couch sitzend ließ sie vortreten und
pellte unter zahlreichen Ermahnungen ihr weißes Höschen sehr
langsam herab. Ohne mit dem Sprechen aufzuhören betrachtete er
ausgiebig ihr junges Vötzchen-allerdings wurde seine Stimme etwas
heiser und an seiner Hose zeigte sich vorne ein recht deutliche
Beule. Drescher wählte aus seinem umfangreichen Sortiment von
biegsamen Rohrstöcken ein besonders zähes und elastisches Exemplar
aus, einen soliden Striemenzieher, der sich dann auch vortrefflich
den runden Strammbacken des Prügelmädchens anpasste und feurig rote
Striemen in ihr festes junge Arschfleisch biss. Da Kathie leider das
Strampeln nicht lassen konnte und ihren Strafpopo immer wieder aus
dem Bereich des pfeifenden Rohrstocks zu bringen versuchte, blieb dem
strengen Herrn Dr.Drescher natürlich nichts anderes übrig, als das
aufsässige Ding auf einen Strafbock zu schnallen.
Dieses so vielfach erprobte Möbelstück stand in einem hinteren
Nebenraum, den die Dreschkes auch ihr “Striemzimmer” nannten.
Drescher hatte den Bock vom Turnlehrer seiner alten Schule bezogen
und mit Riemchen versehen lassen. Als gegenleistung für die kleine
Gefälligkeit lud er seinen Kollegen manchmal zum Tee, wenn es galt
eine Nachhilfeschülerin zu bestrafen. Aber heute wollten die
Dreschers mit der neuen Untermieterin erst einmal unter sich sein.
Der mit dunkelbraunem Leder bezogene und gut gepolsterte
Zucht-Bock hatte schon so mancher Schülerin als Unterlage und
Wetzfläche gedient. Nun rutschte auch Kathie zum ersten Mal auf dem
Lederbock, gut an Händen und Füssen angeschnallt, mit einem
zusätzlichen Gurt unterhalb des Brustkorbs festgeschnürt, so dass
Dr. Drescher nun die gesamte Arsch-Partie und den rückseitigen Teil
der strammen Oberschenkel gut durchstriemen konnte.
Die pfeifenden Hiebe des Rohrstocks setzten der hübschen Göre so
stark zu, dass sie kaum bemerkte, wie nach einer Weile auch die
strenge Frau Drescher den Raum betrat und sich setzte, um die
Strafaktion besser beobachten zu können.
Zu scharf bissen die Rohrstockhiebe in ihren prall heraus
gewölbten Popo, Kathies quiekende Schreie und hilflosen Bitten um
Gnade vermischten sich mit dem Keuchen und schweren Atmen des
Gestrengen, der die einzelnen Hiebe mit gelegentlichen Worten wie:
“Ja, so....!” auch noch würzte, unterstützt von seiner älteren
Gattin, die ihn anfeuerte: “Gib's dem dummen Ding nur ordentlich!
Striem sie durch! Fester.... richtig feste drauf...ahhh, so ist
gut..immer auf den...Nackten!...Sei streng mit ihr....so
streng.....oh so streng...!”
Nicht ohne Erstaunen sah Kathie, dass
die würdevolle Dame mit herausquellenden Augen auf ihren entblößten
Arsch starrte und stöhnend eine Hand unter ihrem dicken Stoffkleid vergraben
hatte, die sich dort hin und her bewegte.
Hieb auf Hieb zog der strenge alte Herr seiner jungen
Untermieterin über den dicken Nackt- Arsch. Dass dieses Mädchen
tüchtig Wichse brauchte, hatte er gleich von Anfang an gespürt und
ihr deshalb auch die sehr niedrige Miete angeboten. Die letzte
Untermieterin war vor einem halben Jahr ausgezogen – und
vielleicht würde Kathie ja eine Weile bleiben und ihm noch recht
lange das Vergnügen bereiten, ihre prallen, wehrlosen blanken
Hinterbacken ordentlich durchzustriemen.
Dr.Drescher machte seinem Namen alle Ehre. Er war ein äußerst
erfahrener Popowichser und nahm sich mit Vorliebe solche
halberwachsenen Mädchen vor, die über einen prallen und festen
Hintern verfügten. In ausnahmslos allen Fällen stellten solche
Prügel-Mädchen ihm nach der vollzogenen Tracht auch gern ihren
aufgespreizten Arsch und ihre Votze zur weiteren “Behandlung”
entgegen oder knieten demutsvoll vor ihrem strengen Züchtiger nieder
und sperrten ihr Mäulchen auf....
Vorerst gab es für Kathie die klassische Tracht Popowichse mit
dem gelben Rohrstock.
HUUUUUIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT! pfiff der gelbe Striemer und gleich
danach blühte eine neue dunkelrote Strieme auf Kathies Stramm-Popo
auf.
Die Kleine wimmerte laut und keuchte.
“Na, schmeckts?” fragte Dr.Drescher zynisch und holte wieder
aus, ließ den bösen zähen Rohrstock auf ihrem bereits so
verstriemten Nackt-Arsch tanzen.
“Uuuuuh....nein...” stöhnte Kathie und bettelte: “Bitt
nicht mehr, bitte....”
“Was denn? Bist du schon satt?” wollte Drescher wissen und zog
dem drallen Ding noch zwei schnell geschlagene Hiebe aufs
Sitzfleisch...
“Bitte aufhören, bitte....” winselte Kathie..“ich will auch
ganz brav sein und alles tun....”
“Das wirst du sowieso, meine Kleine!” sagte Dr.Drescher
bestimmt und zog ihr einen weiteren scharfen Hieb über die nackte
Erziehungsfläche. “Zuerst sagst du mir mal, was solche ungezogene
Mädchen wie du brauchen?”
PFFFFFFTTTTTTT! Pfiff der Rohrsotck und:
“Auaaaaaaa” kam es jämmerlich aus Kathies Mund.
“Naa?” wollte der Doktor wissen und pfitzte ihr gleich noch
ein paar schmatzige Rohrstockhiebe auf den prallen Nacktarsch.
Immer wieder schmitzte der Rohrstock eine böse rote Strieme neben
der anderen in das feste Jungemädchenfleisch.
“Die brauchen Rohrstockwichse....auuuaaaaa....ungezogene
Mädchen.....auaaaaaa...die brauchen Wichse mit
dem.aaaaauaaaaaa....mit dem R-R-Rohrstock auf den
Popo....auaaaaaa....”
“So ist es!” sagte Dr. Drescher. “Denn nur der Rohrstock
hilft den Mädchen– wozu...?”
“Der Rohrstock hilft den Mädchen....auaaaaaaaa....er hilft den
Mädchen, dass sie.....auuuaaaaa ...... dass sie brav
werden....und....”
“Und was...?”
Hoch stieg der Striemer und biss sich fauchend wieder in das schon
so arg verstriemte Popofleisch des Strafmädchens.
“Und tun was der Herr Doktor sagt....dass sie brav werden
und ...und....
Auaaaaaaaaaaa...und gehorsam....“
“Und...?” trieb der strenge Herr Doktor seine Zöglingsmädchen
weiter an.
“Und dass sie....aua (schon wieder ein scharfer Hieb auf so
empfindsame Popofleisch...) ...dass sie immer das tun, was der
Her Doktor anordnet.... Auaaaaaaaaa......bitte, bitte, niiiiiicht
mehhhhrrrr!”
Die Finger von Frau Drescher bewegten sich bei Kathies Worten
immer rasender unter ihrem Rock, ein schmatzendes Geräusch war deutlich zu
hören, ihren Augen waren fast verdreht, ihrem Mund entrang sich ein kehliges Stöhnen, dass sich mit mitleiderregenden Jammern und Schreien
von Kathie mischte.. Zum Glück kannte der Herr Dr.Drescher keine
wehleidigen Gefühle. Wenn es um das Verstriemen eines nackten
Hinterteils ging, war er erbarmungslos. Solch ein dicker Hintern wie der kathies musste nun
einmal tüchtig durchgestriemt werden, das war schon immer so –
da durfte sich der Zuchtmeister nicht vom Jammern und Lamentieren eines dummen Popomädchens irritieren lassen.
In diesem Fall genoss unser Herr Doktor diesen ihm so dargebotenen
Strammpopo außerordentlich. Es war in der Tat ein besonders gut
striembarer Hintern, vollfleischig, von fester und strammer
Beschaffenheit, gut gerundet Diese vollrunden und besonders
fleischigen Backen würden seinem Rohrstock noch des öfteren zur
Verfügung stehen, so viel war dem erfahrenen Popowichser jetzt schon
klar. Das dumme Ding brauchte ganz offenbar tüchtig Wichse, sein
Gezeter und Geschreie war ja normal und gehörte zu solch einer
Tracht Arschwichse dazu, das war der Doktor gewöhnt und es hätte
ihm gefehlt, wenn die Kleine nicht ordentlich geheult hätte. Da war
ihm also ein fetter Bissen ins Netz gegangen, und ihre nackte Votze,
die sich da schon gelegentlich beim Spreizen der Beine gezeigt hatte,
war dem Doktor sofort als geeignet Schlupfloch für seinen Steifen
aufgefallen. Wollen doch mal sehen, wie dehnbar ihr Löchlein sein
würde, dachte er sich!
Völlig klar, dass noch jedes Prügelmädchen nach empfangener
Rohrstockwichse sein Löchlein hatte öffnen und spreizen müssen für
den Harten Lust-Speer des alten Popowichsers, falls der nicht lieber
ein Schluckmäulchen für seinen Lustkolben beanspruchen sollte. Das
alles sollte die Zeit zeigen, die neue Untermieterin würde schon
noch so einiges erleben!
Nach der überaus scharfen Rohrstockwichse, die der Dr. Drescher
seiner jungen Untermieterin verpasst hatte, löste er nun die
Fesseln, mit denen er Kathie auf den Strafbock geschnallt hatte.
Ächzend und jammernd kletterte der verdroschene Popofratz von seiner
Leidens-Stätte. Dr. Drescher setzte sich. Er musste sich nun auch
erst einmal ein wenig ausruhen. So eine strenge Portion Popowichse
ist auch für den geübtesten Rohrstockmeister eine anstrengende
Sache.
Wimmernd und sich die so hart verstriemten Arschbacken vorsichtig
betastend stakste Kathie ein wenig mit heruntergelassenem Höschen
auf und ab, ehe der Doktor sie mit einer befehlenden Handbewegung zu
sich beorderte. Kathie folgte dem Wink sofort und kniete vor
Dr.Drescher nieder.
Devot blickte sie zu dem strengen Herrn auf, auf weitere
Anordnungen wartend.
Eine Mind-Control Geschichte im Büro. Jennys Chef bringt sie durch Hypnose dazu, ihm ihre geheimsten Phantasien zu gestehen
I had never done anything like this before. Since learning to practice
hypnosis I had only done safe things. Though I had used it
surreptitiously to find about peoples thoughts I had never used it for
any sexual purposes. That changed with my new secretary, Jennifer.
Actually she had been with me about six months. Jennifer was a good
secretary and unlike my previous one was rather good looking, blonde, 23
years old, generally wearing suits and glasses, with her hair pulled
back in a ponytail. She looked a little prim and proper actually and was
always very professional.
One afternoon I had been listening to her complaining about her bad
habit of chewing a couple of her nails, not that I had noticed. She
seemed quite annoyed by it so I mentioned that I might be able to help
with hypnosis. Some people managed to stop smoking, why not stop chewing
nails? She seemed very dubious at first but after thinking about it she
said she would give it a go.
I sat her in my office and we went from there. She was an amazingly good
subject, she relaxed quickly and soon I allowed her to let the heavy
weight of her eyelids lower and close. She was under. It took only
minutes to implant the necessary suggestion to allow her to cease
chewing nails but she looked so enchanting I was drawn further. I took
her deeper then had her think of me as the closest friend she could
possibly have, almost another part of herself so she could feel that she
could speak honestly. In fact to strengthen that I had her admit to me
how dreadful it was to tell lies and that it would make her feel easier
to share her innermost feelings.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No. I had but it has just finished."
"Did you have sex in that relationship?
"Yes, but it was pretty boring"
"Why do you say that?"
"It was just ordinary and mundane. We just used the old missionary position and never tried anything new or exciting."
"Why didn't you suggest it?"
"I didn't want to. I wanted him to. I wanted to be led, be told what to do."
"What about sex with other boyfriends?"
"The same really. I seem to always get the wrong type. Actually I think I
intimidate them. I don't mean to, it just seems that I bring the
whimpishness out in them."
"Do you masturbate?"
"Oh yes."
"How often do you need to?"
"About twice a week."
"Is the sex better on your own than sex with your boyfriends?"
"Oh yes. Without a doubt."
"Do you use fantasy when you masturbate?"
"Yes."
"Describe them to me."
I have probably three standard ones."
"Tell me about them."
"Well, one is where I have been taken to a party by someone, someone who
is powerful, someone who dominates me. At the party another man finds
me attractive. I can see his eyes roaming all over my body as he chats
me up. My boyfriend doesn't mind. When we leave this other man comes
with us and we go to a bar. Here my boyfriend makes me pull up my dress
and show the man my knickers, they are really brief. I have to do it,
there's nothing I can do. I pull up the hem of my dress. I'm frantic,
other people might possibly see. The humiliation is adding to my
excitement, as I have to display all up my legs and my knickers. Then he
tells me to pull down my knickers! Down my thighs. I have to spread my
thighs wide to fully display myself, my cunt. He can see me, see that
I'm aroused, see that I have to do as I'm told. My boyfriend talks to
the man about me as I sit there and then he makes me frig myself as the
man watches and I cant stop myself coming.
"Another is when I'm at a party from college and I'm made to wear a
blindfold and stand in a room. I don't know who or how many are there.
The people begin to touch me through my clothes, then they take them off
and touch me all over, finger me. Soon I'm made to suck someone's cock
and as I do someone fucks me from behind. All the time hands touch me
up, some of them women. They all laugh at me each time I come and I come
lots. I'm fucked over and over and have to suck lots of cock.
"Another is I'm in the Headmaster's office after being caught doing
something wrong, something really wicked and dirty. He makes me strip
for him and then spanks my bottom. When he does I can't help coming and
he can't help but see. It's so shameful but I can't help it. After he
sees that I've come he fucks me and I have to keep going back to him."
I sat open mouthed as I listened to this beautiful prim girl saying all
these dirty things. I would never have believed it, never even
considered that butter would melt in her mouth, little did I suspect!
When she finished she sat there passively waiting for me.
"Do you come when you masturbate to these?"
"Oh yes."
"Your sex life is nothing like your fantasies, is it?"
"No."
"Why didn't you tell anyone before?"
"It would be too embarrassing to say."
"Wouldn't that have been arousing though, the humiliation?"
"Yes." She thought for a moment, "But I would only want to tell about my
desires if I had been told to tell and outside sex the humiliation
would be initially stronger than the arousal so I couldn't do it."
Now it was my turn to sit and think, but my mind was a whirl. I decided
to bring her out but first give her a trigger phrase to put her
immediately under to give me time to think. I also told her to forget
everything about being hypnotised, not to remember even telling me about
her nail problem which she would now overcome. I made sure that she
felt good, rested and relaxed and to think that she had just come into
the room to discuss her ap
praisal.
Lolly-The awakening of inncocence : spanking and voyeur story about a teen and her uncle from "Blushes"
'A girl from the new estate over by Burnham, Mr Wiggins. Kind of girl
who'd get herself into trouble if she were allowed to run amok in her
own environment.' The man from the charitable institution justified
the board's request that the said girl, Lola Patricia Oldwood, might
be allowed to take up residence with Mr Wiggins, playing it by the
book even though he knew perfectly well what the form actually was.
'Hmm - I see. Well now, if the board think I might be able to
assist-' Howard Wiggins, donator of substantial sums of money to the
charity which his visitor represented, was not aware that word had
filtered so far down the pecking order with regard to what role he
really played in the 'rehabilitation' of these young girls. He,
therefore, was playing it by the book too.
'No room, you see Mr Wiggins - no room at the inn. It would be a
matter of sending her off to an approved school or some such place if
the organisation found that it couldn't help out.'
'Dear, dear - can't have impressionable young things being sent
off to places like that, my dear chap. No, no - I feel obliged to
help.'
'Thank you, Mr Wiggins. We'd hoped you would be able to-'
'Not at all, not at all. Urn - I believe you said she was the kind
of girl who might get herself into trouble?'
'Well yes, Mr Wiggins. Sad, really - pretty girl like that,
running wild.'
'Running wild, you say?'
'Oh yes - bound to get into some scrape or other, that sort.'
'Indeed yes. And especially the attractive ones, you know. Ah -
you did say "pretty", I believe?'
'Oh yes - very pretty, and bright too. But no moral values, Mr
Wiggins - well, that's if I don't judge her too hastily.'
'I see - hmm - well now, when did you say you'd like me to have
her-?'
The man from the organisation had thanked him several more times
then left. Howard had gone upstairs and pottered around happily,
making sure that the room he always put these girls in was ready for
use, sorting out sheets and pillow cases and cute little nighties,
humming quietly to himself as he did so.
So she'd been "running around", had she? "Liable to
get herself into trouble." He could just imagine it - head boy
at her school luring her into the bike sheds, hand inside her blouse,
up her skirt, a finger slipped under snug knicker elastic - a girl
could be led on by lads like that. Better by far if she were taken in
hand, before something happened that she might regret. True, she was
old enough, just about - but that could be a very arbitrary line to
draw, the "age of consent".
Plenty of girls were just not sufficiently emotionally mature to
understand their own feelings, far less those of others who might
want to take advantage of them. No - better by far if she were shown
the error of her ways. He would make sure that she was.'
Lola - or "Lolly", as Mr Wiggins preferred to call her -
had settled in quickly - within a fortnight the domestic pattern of
her life had been firmly established, and she was learning that Mr
Wiggins was someone to whom she could confide those intimate little
things - indeed had to confide them - that a girl might ordinarily
not want to tell a soul. Mind you, when it suited him, even Mr
Wiggins could cock a deaf ear.
'Hmm? What was that, my pet?'
'I'm - I'm - oogh-'
'Oh, are you! Well now, you know you're not supposed to do that,
my dear, don't you! That really will be very, very naughty of you -
very naughty indeed!'
'B-but I can't help it, Mr Wig - ooogh!'
'Tut-tut! You're not to do it, Lolly - do you understand?'
'Y-yes, but - nnnmgh!''I shall have to punish you if you defy me,
you know. I shall have to spank your little bottom -'
'Oooo - please! Please - I can't h-help - ooooooh!'
Poor Lolly. She really couldn't help it, and that was the truth.
It had always been like that, not being able to help it when boys had
been too adventurous, not being able to say no. It was as if her body
had grown up before the rest of her was ready, and all the trouble
she had got herself into had stemmed one way or another from that
same imbalance of maturity.
Not that she'd ever been silly enough actually to let anyone do it
- not actually do it to her - not quite, anyway, but she'd been on
the brink more than once. More than twice, as a matter of fact. No,
she really couldn't help it, and it wasn't fair of Mr Wiggins to say
that she would have to be spanked for it when it was him who was
making her - making her - 'Ooogh-Mr -Mr Wig-oooh!'
'Hmm? What was that, Lolly?' Lolly's slight weight across Mr
Wiggins legs grew less as her hips lifted up with the tautening of
her legs, and then she took her feet off the floor and her head came
up and her warm young body rocked to and fro across his lap. She
whimpered incomprehensible little protests - none of them meant, no
doubt, because that was just Lolly's way of doing it - whispering
little pleas but worming backwards with her hips to keep the feeling
coming and coming.
'I'm c-coming-!'
'Naughty girl.' said Howard mildly, the encouragement of his
intrusive fingertip doing nothing to aid the girl in her extremity.
'I really do believe I shall have to spank you after all.'
Lolly's knickers were already halfway down her thighs - her
spanking began even as she was still making a sweet little exhibition
of herself across Howard's lap, and only gradually did her breathless
gasps and cries change from those of a girl who was doing something
rather rude to the cries of a girl who wished after all that she
hadn't done it!
The awakening of
innocence Part 2
The gardener had been sent to fetch Lolly from the swimming pool -
she was to come straight to the conservatory, where Mr Wiggins and
his guest were concluding the transfer of a property which Mr Wiggins
no longer had a use for. Mr Sinclair, the man from the organisation,
had been responsible for Lolly's presentation to his old friend as a
gesture of appreciation for a recent donation.
He had known, of course, precisely what the girl would be in for
as 'Wiggy's' house guest; as much as anything he had come down today
to take a look at Lolly in her new surroundings, and hoped for some
interesting divertissement whilst he was there.
Lolly appeared on the path leading past the fish-pond, the sun
bright or her hair and the dappling shadows of trees on her body; and
where the shadows dappled, save for a pale blue triangle of extremely
limited dimensions, she was quite naked.
She came warily into the conservatory, risking only the tiniest
smile of greeting to Mr Sinclair, to whom she hadn't yet been
properly introduced. Her body was wet from the pool, and the
point-down triangle of shiny blue was pulled damply snug around the
plump little pout of her pubes, soft labial cleft shadowed in the
thin, clinging satin.
'This is Lolly,' said Mr Wiggins, and his visitor stood up briefly
to shake her hand - a formality which seemed somewhat out of place in
the circumstances.
'How do you do, sir?' said Lolly, her voice small and respectful,
and Mr Sinclair said he did very well, thank you, except he said it
without once taking his eyes from her small, round tits with their
chilled nipples standing out pert and hard, which made Lolly blush
rather prettily.
Sitting down, and in the absence of any further comment from his
host, Mr Sinclair found himself asking the obvious question, and he
asked it not of the girl but of Mr Wiggins. 'Does she always swim
without the - er top of her costume?'
'Yes.' said Mr Wiggins, as though it would be odd if she didn't.
'And I think Lolly knows why, don't you, my pet?'
'Un - yes sir.' said Lolly, blushing even more.
'I dare say she'd tell you, if you asked.' said Mr Wiggins in tone
of mock confidentiality, and Mr Sinclair did indeed ask. Lolly's
tongue peeped out for a moment as though she were concentrating.
'Er - well sir - it - it's because girls of my age, sir-'
'Especially the pretty ones, commented Mr .Wiggins helpfully.
'Er - yes, sir - especially if they're pretty - um -'
'You're rather pretty, actually,' said Mr Sinclair, sounding quite
sincere about the compliment.
'Um - th-thank you, sir-' mumbled Lolly, embarrassed about where
his eyes had got to whilst he'd said it: 'Er - well, they - they -'
She seemed to have trouble finding a way to phrase it. Mr Wiggins
helped her out.
'They get rather grown-up ideas, Mr Sinclair. That's what Lolly's
trying to say. They think that men take a certain kind of interest in
them, you see - isn't that so, Lolly?'
'Yes, sir.' said Lolly, her blushes warmer still.
'Yes - a "sexual" interest, Mr Sinclair' The visitor
raised his eyebrows, perhaps to express his complete lack of surprise
at such a revelation, but Mr Wiggins continued; 'Some of them become
quite obsessive about such notions, you know.'
'Really?' said the guest his eyes on the bareness of Lolly's hips
where the slender, bow-tied cord of her little pants ran across the
gently tanned skin.
'Oh indeed, yes!' said Mr Wiggins. 'I shouldn't be at all
surprised if Lolly herself is thinking some such thing at this very
moment, Mr Sinclair.'
Lolly's eyes grew wider and her tongue peeped out again as she
licked nervously at her lip. A drip ran down the upper slope of one
of her breasts and fell from the very tip of the stiff little nipple.
'Quite likely she is indulging that predisposition to
self-awareness which young girls are so often prone to - let us call
it "vanity", Mr Sinclair - and is imagining that you and I
are eyeing that little place of hers, which she has so coyly tucked
away in that top-pocket handkerchief, with lewd thoughts in our
minds.' He glanced up at Lolly. 'Isn't that so, my dear?'
The girl, who knew - or thought she knew - that that was exactly
what the pair of them were doing, shook her head just the littlest
bit, not wanting to disagree with Mr Wiggins yet not wanting to admit
to doubting their integrity either.
Embarrassed, she kept her eyes lowered so as not to have to look
directly at either of them, and couldn't help noticing that there was
that same prominence along the crease line of Mr Wiggins' trousers
where they pulled across the top of his leg that sometimes appeared
there when she was about to be divested of her knickers, or pajama
bottoms - or swimming costume, perhaps.
She crossed her fingers and whispered under her breath the fervent
hope that Mr Sinclair would be staying until well after bedtime -
although Mr Wiggins was getting on in years, the spirit, when it did
move him, could be vigorous indeed, and she wasn't always put
bottom-uppermost across the end of her just to have her bum smacked.
Having to pretend, too, that it was a game called 'Bunny Rabbits and
Burrows' that they were playing was almost the most embarrassing
thing of all!
'- which is why, you see, I have her walking around the place like
that. It's so that she's made to realise that her rude imaginings
that every man who sees her is interested only in what's inside her
knickers - are a product simply of her own over-active femininity. Do
you follow me, Mr Sinclair?'
'Er - well yes, I think I do.' The man's expression belied his
answer - plainly he did not follow Mr Wiggins' tortuous logic. He
sensed, however, that this was really only a game, and one that he
might just as well play along with. 'So what you're saying, in a
nutshell, is that if a girl - Lolly, for example - is made to
recognise that it is actually all in her own mind which, you say, can
be achieved by, er - having her be in the company of those whom she
suspects of harboring, er, "sexual" thoughts while she
herself is un-clothed-'
'Precisely, Mr Sinclair.' nodded Mr
Wiggins.
'Er - well then -' Mr Sinclair faltered, having lost the
exceedingly tenuous thread of this pompous claptrap. His eyes
wandered, as though for inspiration, to Lolly's damp young body, and
in particular to the succulent plumpness pouting against the wet "top
pocket handkerchief" tied so insecurely around the girl's hips.
'Um -' Little bows on either side, and no more than a tug at the cord
needed to have her - 'Er -' Inspiration did indeed come to his
rescue.
'Well then, why is she wearing that rather provocative little
costume, Mr Wiggins?'
Mr Wiggins looked enquiringly at Lolly's anxious face.
'Yes, Lolly dear - why are you wearing that, er, undoubtedly
seductive pair of - pants, I suppose you'd have to call them? Hmm?'
Lolly shuffled her bare feet uneasily and stumbled around for an
answer.
'Well - you - you said you were expecting a visitor, Mr ..
Wiggins, sir, an' - and, well, I know I'm not allowed to wear
anything - er - up here -' Her hands gestured nervously in the
direction of her breasts, '- but, well, I thought it might be a bit
rude of me, sir, if I went around absolutely - um - er - while your
visitor was here.
Um – sir.'
'Do you see, Mr Sinclair? "Might be rather rude of me"?
D'you see how this little sexpot's mind dwells on these things?
Mr Wiggins turned his amused glance upon Lolly again. Now then,
Lolly my dear. I shall have to whip your naughty little bottom,
shan't I?"
Lolly shook her head dumbly, pleading with her wide eyes not to be
'whipped' - perhaps to be spanked, but not "whipped", and
Mr Wiggins smiled an avuncular smile and said:
'Yes, "whipped", Lolly - I shall deal with you before
bedtime.
Meanwhile -' He leaned forward and plucked at the loose end of the
bow at one of her hips. The knot fell undone, and the wet satin
slipped from her pubes, still tucked between her close-pressed thighs
but now lop-sided and concealing nothing.
Reluctantly obedient to Mr Wiggins obvious intention, Lolly's
fingers went to the bow at the other hip and pulled, and the damp
triangle, now upside-down, clung between her legs for a moment then
slid to the floor with a sodden 'plop'.
Lolly's little secret, which she had coyly tucked away inside that
silly costume in honour of Mr Sinclair's visit, was unveiled, with
the bloom of dampness upon it arid as smooth and pink as though it
had never been any other way.
Mr Sinclair coughed, as if embarrassed by his own fascination. Mr
Wiggins smiled almost proudly, and in the shrubbery outside there was
an interested rustle. Blushing a warm pink, Lolly somehow prevented
her hands from slipping across her tummy to hide the humiliating
nakedness of her pubes.
She closed her eyes so that she wouldn't have to meet their
mocking looks and made herself put her hands together behind her
back, the soft smoothness of her wet buttocks against the backs of
her fingers reminding her with a jolt of the "whipping" -
how she hated that over-sibilant "wh-" with which he
pronounced the word - that she had been promised for that evening.
The awakening of
innocence Part 3
The long summer evening was slipping steadily towards twilight,
and the high wall alongside the garden path which led to the
summer-house cast a cool shadow over the lawn beside the flag-stoned
walk. At the end of the pathway, raised on a small mound with half a
dozen steps leading up to its glazed door, the small octagonal
building stood aloof from the rest of the garden, one of its windows
still catching the warm ruby glow of the western sky where the sun
was dipping behind a low bank of purple cloud. Bird called in the
quietness, and distantly a dog barked, twice, and then no more.
The gardener's heavy shoes made little noise on the path, and then
none at all in the soft earth alongside the wall. They'd had her down
there long enough to have got well started, and wouldn't notice his
stealthy approach. There had been a series of plaintive little cries
earlier on - he'd have been punishing her no doubt - but the cries
had stopped, and there had been no sound from the summer-house for a
good five minutes.
Careful of his footing the gardener crept closer, until he could
see everything there was to see.
Inside the glass-sided gazebo
the air still held a reminder of the heat of the day, though it was
rapidly cooling now. In a few minutes there would be enough chill in
the air to prompt a little shiver, or to stiffen a girl's exposed
nipples.
Lolly had already been dressed for bed when Mr Wiggins had
chivvied her along the path from the house - fortunately for that
gentleman's local reputation there had been no possibility of a
neighbour overlooking Lolly's progress down the path, a pace and a
half ahead of her benefactor with the eager Mr Sinclair in close
attendance. In the summer-house now, the girl was still dressed for
bed - which left rather a lot of her not dressed at all!
On days when she had been 'naughty' Lolly wasn't allowed to
forget, even at bedtime, what a 'naughty' girl's bottom was really
for in Mr Wiggins' scheme of things. Pajama's were forbidden her -
instead she wore a nightie, which to the uninformed might not have
seemed much like a nightie at all.
Lolly's 'naughty girl' nighties were silken fripperies which, had
there been more of them, would probably have been very expensive but
their cost had been minimised by the simple expedient of, cutting
down on the quantity of material used.
The nightie which Lolly was wearing was red silk, with minutely
crafted white lace edging. There were little puff sleeves, stitched
into elastic at the tops of the arms, and a demure neck-line ran high
across her chest, lace edged front and back. Around her body a
silk-shrouded strip of elastic passed close up under each breast, and
to this elastic the main 'body' of the garment was sewn, keeping the
nightie close-fitting where it mattered. Below the line of that
elastic there was - nothing. Lolly's nightie, in fact, stopped just
below the level of the under-side of her tits.
There were no pants - it was not after all, supposed to be one of
those 'baby doll' outfits. It was for sleeping in, and not intended
to be suggestive.
The garment's designer had been aware, of course, of the
provocative appearance that impudent young nipples under
tightly-fitted silk would present, and he had solved the problem
discreetly by simply removing the material from places where it was
likely to give undue emphasis to the girl's body contours.
Lolly's tits' freedom from the restricting silk was, accordingly,
strictly in the interests of diminishing the otherwise rather
seductive look the nightie would have lent them; the designer was to
be applauded too for his good taste in allowing the girl's breasts
themselves to escape the confines of the garment instead of merely
leaving peep-holes for the nipples alone, which might have looked
merely vulgar.
The two men were presently engaged in some discussion pertaining
to the property transfer which Mr Sinclair had come down to finalise.
They were seated on wicker chairs, and each had a copy of the papers.
Whereas Mr Wiggins appeared not to be much interested in the
summer-house's one other occupant - he at least gave that impression
- Mr Sinclair could not have claimed the same degree of detachment.
Constantly his attention was distracted by little sounds which
slipped past Lolly's parted lips every few moments - quiet gasps,
panting's and breathings with an urgent quality which made them
impossible for him to ignore. Manfully he struggled to keep abreast
of the conversation, yet all the time he lagged further behind.
Lying on a window sill close by Mr Wiggins' chair was a slim
bundle of twigs, each long and straight, the whole bound together by
a length of garden twine at one end while at the other the twigs
fanned out a little, their ends partially stripped of their thin bark
in a haphazard, uneven way.
There were four or five twigs in the' switch, each chosen with
care by the gardener an hour before with an eye to their
straightness, their slenderness, and their potential for stinging the
buttocks to which they were to be applied. Brought down across the
palm of his work-hardened hand, the completed switch had imparted
enough of a smart to make him chary of doing the same thing again -
how much more of a sting would they lend to Lolly's tender little
bum!
On the floor of the summer-house, scattered widely across the
Italian marble tiles, were scores of bark flakes which had been
flicked off the twigs by the switch's application to the girl's naked
bum-cheeks. Several such flakes were presently sprinkled on the
calves of Lolly's legs, where she knelt on a wicker stool; indeed a
number of them still stuck to her punished buttocks and one had
lodged in-discreetly between the very cheeks themselves.
Evidence of the gardener's artistry in the making of switches for
naughty girls' bottoms was emblazoned around the chubby under-curves
of Lolly's saucy little bum.
Scores of short, thin, tapering marks, thickening towards the
right-hand flank of each cheek where the twigs' tips had stung
harder, streaked across the reddened skin in uni-directional swathes
whose tails were crimson and whose tips were tiny blisters of
reddish-mauve.
Where the sharp darts left by the whipping angled in toward the
conjunction of thighs, bottom-cleft and under-buttock creases, there,
perhaps, was evidence of Mr Wiggins' wish to ensure that Lolly's
bottom was most 'stimulated', most 'titillated', in those places
closest to that moist little runnel between her legs to which, if his
theories were to be believed, all the faults in Lolly's character
might be traced back.
The stool creaked as Lolly shifted her weight to ease the
discomfort in her knees, her thighs slipping apart as she re-adjusted
her balance on the narrow seat. Both Mr Sinclair and Lolly's
benefactor looked up at the sound; Lolly wished instantly that she
had simply kept still and suffered the hurt in her knees, because
with the same easy nonchalance which he affected whenever he was
actually quite determined about something, Mr Wiggins reached out to
the window sill and took up the switch, it's long twigs shivering as
for a moment he held it balanced in his hand before re-adjusting his
grip ready to use it.
'I'm not sure you're really trying, Lolly dear.' he said mildly.
'Oo - ooh - I am, sir - honestly -!' Her bottom tweaked nervously
as the twigs were slapped gently along a line of aim. 'Please sir - I
am!'
'Hands on your head please, Lolly.'
'Ooh-sir-!'
'On your head, my pet! Lolly's hands folded themselves reluctantly
across each other on her head and her whipped little bottom trembled
as she shifted her knees again. 'Come along now-' Lolly's back curved
inwards as she pushed her bottom gingerly out behind, the creases
under her buttocks melting into soft smoothness as the skin there
tautened.
Casually Mr Wiggins let the switch curve briskly around Lolly's
expectant bum - really no more than a swift flick from the wrist, yet
it made the girl yelp and wobble dangerously on her perch. Timorously
one hand, then the other, sneaked back towards her bottom, fingers
feeling for the fresh little marks amongst all the others.
'Hands out of the way, Lolly.' said Mr Wiggins coaxingly. Lolly's
timid hands went back to their assigned place on her head, and then
the switch caught her flinching bum again, the tips of the twigs
cunningly aimed so that one of them, longer than the others, flexed
neatly along the line of one buttock's underside crease and dipped
around the inner curve at the very top of the inside of her thigh.
Lolly's frantic little squeal confirmed the accurate placing of Mr
Wiggins' stroke! The girl dived her hands down between her legs and a
finger groped gingerly for the place where the very tip of the switch
had caught her, her bottom-cheeks flinching at the same time as they
were played with by the twigs again. She panted in fright, thinking
that he was about to give her another stroke, but he slapped her
bottom a few more times with the switch's tip then put it back on the
window sill.
'Now then - perhaps you'll try harder, my pet.' Said Mr Wiggins.
'It doesn't usually take you this long, does it?'
Lolly's buttocks softened as she realised that she wasn't going to
get another flick - at least not yet. Dutifully she tried again, the
one hand she didn't have to use for it wandering round to her bottom
and touching hesitantly at the sorest places as she shook her head in
answer to Mr Wiggins' embarrassing question. Mr Sinclair caught her
eye and she blushed more than ever, because now he had been let into
another little secret.
Up in her bedroom, with the bedside lamp glowing softly and Mr
Wiggins being patient with her, coaxing her and only smacking her
bottom if she was silly enough to let him think she was actually
enjoying it - well, it really wasn't so awful, even though she was
still a bit shy about letting him see her do it.
But here in the summer-house, with Mr Sinclair there too, and that
horrible twiggy thing - Lolly squeezed her eyes shut and tried to
make it happen, because the sooner she did the sooner she'd be
allowed to scamper away to her room, out of range of the switch.
Five minutes elapsed, and then ten had slipped by, and slowly the
men's conversation lapsed. Lolly's whispered admission, which Mr
Wiggins made her repeat, that she thought she was going to do it,
sir, in just a moment or two, had faded into breathlessness, her lips
apart, her face flushed, her eyes half-lidded - her hips beginning a
gentle, rhythmic, forward and back rocking which made her stool creak
in time with her movements. Mr Wiggins caught Mr Sinclair's eye and
put his finger to his lips, enjoining silence, and in that silence
Lolly trembled and panted to a muted, embarrassed little climax.
Lolly opened her eyes slowly, her cheeks pinkening as full
awareness returned and she found herself the focus of her two
witnesses’ attention. Mr Wiggins' hand reached unhurriedly for the
switch, and Lolly licked her lips nervously, mute pleading in her
eyes, but such demonstrations of a girl's wilfulness in ignoring the
morality that her benefactor had been pretending to teach her since
she had been with him could not, of course, go unpunished.
Reluctantly Lolly presented her whipped little bum as before, her
hands back on her head again, and she was given six hard, painful
strokes. She wept copiously for several minutes on end, allowed now
that the shipping was over to rub at her bottom and taking rueful
advantage of the indulgence. And then, with a condescending smile
from Mr Wiggins, she was dismissed.
The two men watched in silence as she went out of the summer-house
and up the path, her hot young bottom bobbing behind her.
Was es hier zu lesen gibt what you will read here: Spanking stories, Mind control stories,Raceplay and else...
Ich werde hier ab und zu Spanking Stories (exspecially about naughty daughters), Mind Control oder Raceplay stories auf Deutsch oder Englisch u.a. posten. Also schaut mal rein!
I will post spanking stories, mind control stories, raceplay stories and else .So have a look.
To start: a small spanking story from an British magazine:
"When he's finally been nagged into smacking his
daughter he takes her into the sitting room. Diane makes sure she's
wearing' her school uniform of grey skirt, blouse, tie, socks and
navy knickers. He's just pulled a chair out and is sitting down when
she says, all innocent like:
"Shall
I take my skirt off, Dad? I mustn't get it creased."
Before he can reply she's standing there with no
skirt on, just blouse down to her hips, bare legs and a soulful
expression.
Now he's seated and starts to mumble about her being
naughty or cheeky. Diane pretends to listen and, at the same time,
raises her blouse and slips her knickers down over her bum, leaving
them bunched at the crotch.
"Don't do that when I'm talking, dear,"
says her father, going slightly pink in the face.
"Oh I'm sorry dad, I was only trying to help,"
stammers the darling daughter. At the same time she turns her back,
showing her plump round bottom to her father and fumbling to pull her
pants up.
Father is now distinctly embarrassed as he says:
"Alright, leave them, leave them. Just stand still and listen to
me."
She lets her parent rabbit on for a little while.
"Shall I draw the curtains Dad? . . You don't
want people looking in, do you?" she interrupts.
"Hey, what? Yes ... no! Alright, but hurry."
Diane has already turned and walked off across to the window. She
makes sure her blouse is tucked up and her father has to watch her
naked behind with the dark knickers bunched around its base as she
wiggles away. When she reaches up to close the curtains, a little
more of her goes on show just for an instant.
She is back in front of her father, looking as though
butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. He has loosened his collar. He
tries to remember what he was saying. He gives up trying. Get it over
with. That's his best bet. Gently he takes his daughter's wrist and
guides her towards his lap. Diane holds back.
"Please Daddy, may I leave the room for a
moment?" He looks up into two worried blue eyes. "It's
urgent!" she whispers, blushing prettily.
The confused dad watches a pink bottom mince out of
the room. He waits one, two, three minutes . . . the door opens, she
is back, the blouse higher on her hips, the knickers halfway down her
white thighs.
Now Diane's dad is only human, and he's definitely
noticed that Diane isn't his little girl any longer. She's quite a
big girl with a plump round bottom and a lot of other things.
The
darling daughter gets about four light smacks and she give a little
tearful cry. . .
"Are you all right dear?" says her poor
bothered dad.
"Yes, I think so Daddy, go on, I'll try to be
brave," sobs the daughter.
Of course, by now it's really all over. One more pat
and she's back on her feet.
"And let that be a lesson to you," says
dad, trying to sound stern.
Diane says she's never had more than six smacks and,
unknown to her mum, her pocket money's been increased. So there you
are, we don't lose them all!