To read the rest, click on ‘Photo Stories’ above and scroll a long way down until you find the five volumes of the Saint Helena Chronicles. You can read one and two, fully written, edited, and illustrated. This is, as you can see, book three, under, construction.
Continued…
It wasn’t long before the three girls were back, Charlotte, Kate and Stephanie had been playing truant. Three best friends off with a cold on the same day? Their sick notes were all written in the same handwriting and were word-for-word the same! They must take me for a fool!
I got them in the detention room.
“Your choice is simple. If you admit your guilt you will get the plimsoll, a dozen each. If, however, you make me ring your parents to find out the truth, it will be a dozen of the cane each, on the stage in the Assembly Hall in front of the whole school! What’s it to be?” I asked quietly.
“I told a fib and I’m very sorry Mr.Jones. I played truant,” said Charlotte.
“I did the same…sorry Sir,” said Kate.
“Me too, Mr Jones,” confessed Stephanie.
“Good! Then get in a line again and raise your gymslips for me.”
“Yes Sir.”
“I have put the form there for you to kneel on. I want you all on there kneeling… hands to the floor and bare bottoms up.”…
With all the girls in position, ‘bottoms up high’, I pulled their crisp, white school knickers down, from left to right…
And there they were, presented, three bare bottoms for spanking. Each slightly different, but all lovely specimens of the female bottom.
I studied them, and made them wait, in shame, squirming in embarrassment.
I made my way right to left, standing at their heads, my legs each side of their ears, my left hand in the small of their back and gave them all a hard dozen with my size fifteen plimsoll.
In this one, I am sort of duplicating ‘Retro black and white’ style photos. Maybe not as much story as my usual posts, but enjoyable nonetheless
In the story of the two naughty girls exploring the old silk mill, we carried on shooting back in my studio, downstairs. Remember I told you of the Victorian nursing chair I had purchased? Well, I have been thinking of an idea for it, and so here we are…
Two girls in a boarding school have been wandering the corridors at night, and in a little used, ‘out of bounds’ part, they find an old chapel.
Those of you whom know me, have probably just picked up a clue of what will happen way, way, way, down the line!
They read books like ‘Mallory Towers’ by Enid Blyton. There are lots of references to spankings in her old books for children…
…in the more modern times of our story, our two girls Charlotte and Stephanie, have only seen a couple of spankings, and are very interested in them. They want to know what they feel like, to give, and receive.
So here they are, in their little room, lets call it ‘The Spanking Chapel’.
An older sister, who has not been the nicest girl to her sibling, comes home from school in disgrace. She has been caught cheating and swearing at the teachers when caught!
Mummy has just washed her mouth out for using foul language, and has shouted her younger sister to witness her get a spanking, bent over the landing rail.
How embarrassing for the sixth form girl.
How wonderful for the sister, two years younger, to witness her bottom being spanked by Mummy.
The lovely old bus carried the two naughty school girls to the bus stop at the end of Silk Mill Lane, near the ‘Old Mill Inn’. They skipped down the lane, hand in hand. It was a beautiful English summer’s day, butterflies were everywhere, wild parsley lined the lane on both sides. Oak and Elm stood proudly along its length, leaves rustling delightfully in the gentle breeze, and the meadows on each side were red, white,yellow and blue, with corn flowers, poppies, ox- eye daises, and buttercups. Bees buzzed their merry tune.
They giggled and joked as they passed some cows….”Ohhh arrrr me old buttercup, ‘ow are your udders swinging today?” chuckled Charlotte.
“Ohhh my old dearie-o, not bad, not bad, swinging too and fro between my knees you know!….Moooooo!” laughed back Stephanie.
“Mooooo, I be like that Headmistress of yours then…moooo!” laughed Charlotte loudly.
Then the mood changed, as the four storey old silk mill came into view. All was quiet, as always. The poppies and other flowers were everywhere. They pushed through the gap in the fence, sneaked along the wall, across an old cobbled yard, to the red, peeling aged oak door. They pushed as they had done the day before, and just managed to squeeze through. Up the old rickety staircase they went, wide eyed and nervous. Staircase after musty old staircase until they reached the top.
The old building creaked and groaned, but bravely they persevered. Stephanie looked behind her as something rattled behind them. “Fuck me backwards! What the fuck was that!?!?”
Charlotte, the braver of the two took her chance. “You know what they say about talking to ghosts, don’t you? The first words of introduction mean the most!”
Full of nervous curiosity Stephanie asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they say the old Victorian Mill Owner walks this place, and you have just invited him to fuck you backwards. Right now his ghostly hands might be reaching for your knickers, to pull them down and ram his ice cold cock right up your arse!” Charlotte laughed a cackling sort of witches laugh.
“Ooooh that’d be grand Mr Mill Owner, grab my hips right now…take me Sir! Like your old maid in ye days of olde….fuck me up my arse Sir!”Laughed Stephanie trying to be brave.
But all the same, she looked behind herself again, as a chill blew up her short daring skirt, and wafted over her navy blue school knickers.
When they reached the top, both were not feeling quite as brave. There was a gloomy cob webbed window before them, and to their left an opening into the galleries where all the old looms must have been, clickety clanging dangerously away…hour after hour, day after day, year after year…for decades.
“ooooh.” Said Charlotte.
“ooooh.” Said Stephanie.
What they saw, fascinated them. Excited them…
Would you like to see?
Better come back for part three then! See you soon!!
This is a story written between ‘B’ and myself, to read the rest, and see much more of her work, click on ‘Links and Contributors’ above. There you will see a link to her blog. If you click on ‘contributors’ you can scroll down to her page on my blog, where this and other stories are.
You will also find a spanking game, which is both realistic and magnificent! Click on the link below.
I looked at the beautiful bottom to my right, and as she slowly turned, her pussy swung round into view. I looked up to her pretty face. She looked down at me and gave me a shy little smile.
I swallowed and regained my composure. Was it her bottom, her pussy, or her pretty smile that had momentarily disarmed me? “Bend over, hands to the floor, and present your bottom.”
What followed was magnificent. She did not just bend over, she seemed to glide over my lap like a mermaid diving into an enchanted pool. The way she settled into position was quite sexual. The perfectly round orbs of her delicious bottom rose up, slowly, beautifully. For what must have been thirty seconds, all I could do was stare at its glory. I had a great desire to stroke it, not spank it! But I was snapped out of it my reverie with her little voice drifting up over her shoulder.
“I am ready Mr. Redmoon.”
How charming, I thought.
I slid my arm around her tight, slender waist and held her firmly. I raised my hand high and delivered her the forty promised smacks. To see her thighs and hips squirm and wriggle was spanking poetry in motion. The glow came instantly and blood rose into what would later be bruises. I have large, heavy, stiff fingered spanking hands. I swat down on those magnificent cheeks with professional alacrity. Shock waves rippled across the cheeks either side of her crack, they kissed on every impact.
She squealed and cried. I caught my breath and took the sturdy, smooth backed, shiny, varnished hair brush in my hand and firmly gripped the handle. I let her settle as she whimpered and sniffed… She did it again!
“Ready Mr. Redmoon.”
“How bloody charming is she!?” I thought to myself. I did not reply with my voice. The hairbrush spoke for me quite adequately.
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! All across her ‘sit spot’.
She howled like a banshee. I know they must have hurt her badly, but she deserved them. The last four stung her upper thighs like a hornet. She let out long shrieks at each one. I held her firm. There was little room for any movement of her glowing embers.
“Stand up, do not rub. Roll up your skirt. Stand in the corner next to the cabinet with your hands atop your head. Stay there until I give permission for you to leave.”
The clock ticked, the bird call flew in through my window. There was a knock on the door. “Enter!” I shouted, and my next client entered in her blue tartan skirt. I told her to go to the Study door. “You may rub, pull up your knickers, adjust your kilt, and leave.” I said to the glowing bottom in the corner.
“Thank you Mr. Redmoon.” She smiled through her tears. I nodded ‘goodbye’ to her, then turned my attention to Emily.
“After you, let’s get you into the study and get your bottom over the vaulting horse.” I heard the door behind me close, as I ushered the pale trembling girl in…
Now…let us step back in time a little and into the mind of a spanked girl…
… I was standing in the corner with my grey school uniform skirt up and my white cotton knickers around my knees. I was sniffling and my bum was burning from the longest spanking I had ever received. Pop had never spanked his princess, and Mom had never given me such a severe spanking. Worse was my upper thighs throbbing from the hairbrush smacks. I further clasped my hands above my head to refrain the urge to rub my fiery derriere.
I was well punished and quite contrite. I reflected, twenty two and spanked bare butt as a lazy schoolgirl, and worse was having to admit that it was well deserved. I was promising myself to improve my grades when I heard a timid knock followed by a commanding, “Enter”.
I almost voiced, ‘Oh no!’ Someone is going to see me shamefully standing in the corner exposing my bare and well punished bottom. I felt my ears tickling. I was for sure blushing crimson, and my bum seemed to burn even more. I was going to push my nose further into the corner, but couldn’t resist a curious glance at the visitor.
It was the receptionist at the bank. I had no doubt that she had recognized me and blushed the more. She was wearing the blue kilt which meant that she was coming to be punished. She was ordered to bend over the vaulting horse. I imagined that she was going to be given a punishment far more severe than a spanking.
As she walked to the door, I rubbed my bottom.
I stepped out of Mr Redmon’s cottage with both hands, rubbing my red punishment kilt over my fiery bottom. Two old ladies going to the nearby Co-op smirked as they saw me. They for sure knew the meaning of my red kilt. I squatted to unlock my bike. I didn’t want to bend, and chance offering a glimpse of my reddened thighs. I pushed my bike across the sidewalk. I now had to decide, push it all the way home or ride high above the saddle.
Charlotte and Stephanie live in a lovely little village in the country, over the weekend they had been exploring, as the two inquisitive naughty girls often do. In the valley bottom of a beautiful dale,there was an old Silk Mill. Wire surrounds it, as do notices saying ‘Danger Do Not Enter’ and ‘Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted’.
So they entered the perimeter, giggling at their bravery and naughtiness, and after a long search found a way in. Annoyingly, they had to go home before their exciting adventure took them inside, it was growing dark.
Next morning they went to school, and as always, arrived very early, their local bus was only once every hour and a half. They walked down the corridor to the sixth form kitchen area.
Made themselves a drink…
And quickly decided to skip school. It was a hot day, their bus would be turning around and going back in ten minutes. They were going back to the old silk mill, in school uniform! How daring, how exciting.
They crept by the School Secretary’s window.
And ran to the bus stop, and jumped on! The driver was surprised to see them. But gave them their tickets to Silk Mill Lane, without question
to read more of Robyn’s work, click on ‘links and contributors’ at the top of the page, then click on contributors, and scroll down to her pages.
…continued
Laura’s scheme was to bring Ruth pleasure rather than pain. After ten or fifteen minutes of the spanking-strap and wild cries from the charming victim with her cropped halo of curls, Laura put down the strap. She knelt behind Ruth, where the soft young thighs were spread wide by the wooden mount and applied her mouth to the rear of the feminine slit.
I saw Laura’s tongue now diddling to and from in Ruth’s light-haired cunt-slit. I heard Ruth’s choking cries of pleasure. Nor did Laura neglect her own desires. While she mouthed Ruth between the legs, spreading the love-juice with her tongue over the secret places of the girl’s thighs, Laura knelt astraddle, one hand between her own legs.
You guess the secret? Unlike Ruth, Laura was a consummate masturbator and now timed her own climax to match that of her pretty partner. The dewy lubrication which she milked from Ruth was visible upon her lips and all round her mouth. In her zeal to be a dirty girl, Laura’s tongue gave a quick lick up and down between Ruth’s ass-cheeks. Then she pushed her lips and tongue between the younger girl’s legs, rubbing herself with firm skill at the same time.
The moment was upon them. Crying out Laura’s name as if dying in ecstasy, Ruth reached the pinnacle of joy and then her shrillness fell to quiet sobs of relief. Laura came with a gasp and a long shuddering. They lay quietly together for a long while, Ruth sprawled limp astride her nursery mount, Laura curled beside her with her auburn hair pillowed against Ruth’s bare hip. It was fully half an hour before they stirred from their trance. Neither girl bothered to put on her riding-trousers and panties. They made a charming sight, bare legged and hipped, as they twined their arms about one another and walked slowly down to the bedroom which they shared.
****
Lord Frederick is so aroused by the sight of the two girls’ antics on the rocking horse, he later decides to try it out with his young Welsh maid, called Sian, ‘a warm and red-haired maid, of but twenty years of age’. She is clearly more than just his maid as you will see!
I led Sian quietly to the room where Laura and Ruth had performed their sports and where the saddle was soon strapped on the wooden mounts again. Then … I undid her drawers and pulled them down, laying bare her trim pale legs and the soft rounds of her rear cheeks… I then ordered her to get on the rocking horse and straddle it.
….Cautiously she eased herself astride the saddle, my hands guiding her. There was a shrill gasp partly of shock and partly of excitement as the leather diddler entered her cunt a little.
“Lie forward, Sian! Arms round the horse’s neck! Spread those legs and ass-cheeks! Push your backside out a little more!”
And there she was, straddling the smooth wooden horse as lewdly as either Ruth or Laura. With the red tresses still in delightful disorder round her face as she lay there, Sian was squeezing and tensing on the horse, her breath breaking from her in irregular gasps.
I went to the cupboard again and examined it’s treasures… There was a row of pony-tails, the hair being in a variety of colors which matched the hair of two legged fillies rather than the four-legged kind! I chose one which was the shade of Sian’s. There was also an ingenious instrument of control, a martinet. It consisted of a thick handle and twenty or thirty thin tails of leather hanging from it, each no thicker than a stout bootlace. A jar of Vaseline into which cologne perfume had been mixed was the third item of which I possessed myself.
“Lie still for a moment, Sian!” I said firmly, though this command was easier for me to give than for the girl to obey in her present state of excitement. “We must make a proper pony-girl of you.”
“Oh, its lovely!” she cooed, squeezing and riding the cunning leather thumb.
I examined the pony-tail. There was a rounded butt, intended for insertion into the girl’s bottom, from which the hair ran up, under a waist-belt, and then formed a tall and graceful curve over the charming buttocks. I loaded my finger with the perfumed Vaseline and smeared it thickly on Sian’s anus. She tensed in apprehension but I was not to be deterred.
“You must have the butt of the tail in your butt-hole, Sian. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that too when the ride reaches its climax!”
Amelia Jane Rutherford sporting a horse tail butt-plug
Asa’s photo of Kate riding ‘Little Neddy’ – she is not, however,
quite wearing a horse tail butt-plug!
Sian offered no resistance as I pressed the butt of the tail into place, then drew the woven strand up between her buttocks and under the leather belt at the rear of her waist. It made the most charming plume and cascade, spreading over the pale rounding of the redhead’s soft bottom. The leather thumb of the saddle between her legs, Sian was now goaded to excitement by having her anus stretched on the Vaselined butt of the tail. But she was also tickled and teased by the soft hairs of the tail which lay over her buttocks, between them, and even tantalised the rear of her pussy flesh between her spread thighs.
… Sian rode as if her life depended on it, at once the jockey and the pony herself. Her bare thighs clamped the wooden flanks and her hips urged the rocking horse onward-and-back, onward-and-back, onward-and-back. Sian’s orgasm must not come too quickly, for that would spoil our fun. I stopped and steadied the wooden horse after about ten minutes during which the tail of hair swept to and from across Sian’s ass as she rode. Cruel as any tyrant, I now laid the tail aside and withdrew the leather thumb which had brought her to such a pitch between her legs.
A moment more and the saddle was gone. Sian was lying like any other girl astride a rocking-horse. What dismay this caused!
“Ride hard and finish yourself off quickly, Sian!”
“I c-c-can’t! Oh, I can’t!” she wailed.
For answer, I picked up the martinet.
“A filly sometimes needs a taste of the whip across her rump, Sian. I shall be cruel in order to be kind.”
Gently I laid the thin tails across her backside to let her feel the thrill of cold leather. Sian tried desperately to clench her buttocks together. Her thighs and butt being so spread as she straddled the horse, she thought herself fearfully open to the havoc of the martinet. To prevent her avoiding the treatment she needed, I fastened her wrists to the wooden forelegs and strapped her down at the waist. I was aware that pleasure or pain might cause her to yell loudly enough to wake the house. Looking round I saw the web cotton of Laura’s briefs lying on the floor. When folded, they made little more than a handkerchief. There was something both lewd and yet provoking in making one girl wear another’s panties in this fashion.
“In your mouth, Sian,” I said gently. She obeyed with unease.
Now the Welsh beauty’s gallop began. I whipped hard across the full soft pallor of Sian’s bottom-cheeks. At every stroke the martinet produced red streaks of angry fire. Most fell upon her buttocks. A few of the little thongs curled between her ass-cheeks and even streaked the inner surfaces of her thighs. Yet Sian rode like a champion, her hips pumping and legs tensing.
More screenshots from W4B Film ‘A Hot Ride’ in which the young lady flicks her own lovely bottom with a dressage whip
“Did you like that, Sian? A flick of the whip-tails across your backside. … Ah, that one caught you between your ass-cheeks, Sian! That makes you ride harder! … We must drive you to the pinnacle of pleasure, I think. … Now, the whip across your backside. … Between your buttocks. … Across your thighs. … Between your legs. … Bottom-cheeks. … Bottom-cheeks. … In your rear crack. … Between the legs. … Back of the thighs. … Thighs again. … Bottom-crack. … Bottom-cheeks. … Bottom-cheeks. … Bottom-crack. … In your crack again, Sian. … Bottom-cheeks. … Crack. … Bottom. … Bottom. … Bottom….
A lovely photo from Walso’s Blog of a bottom recently whipped with a martinet
To those who were not present, the ordeal may sound worse than it was. Many a little girl of ten or twelve is chastised by the martinet. In France, the practice is universal. At last I laid down the tailed whip and regarded my panting filly, her bonds removed. I closely examined Sian’s crack, the forbidden valley between her buttocks. Though she flinched at my finger’s touch there, it was as much modesty as tenderness.
Now I came to the last act of the drama. Pulling off my trousers, I mounted pillion on the rocking-horse behind my perspiring girl. How gratefully Sian raised her hips, spread her thighs wider still and then sank down with my stiffness embedded in the velvety sheath which lay so moist between her legs. Now we began to ride together. Sian arched her hips and threw her head back. The red tresses swept to and fro across her collar as she panted and whimpered with longing for the moment of her pleasure which had been so long delayed.
Illustration by Paula Russell from ‘Beatrice’
With my hands on her flanks, I guided her through the gallop, driving her on with thrusts of my manhood which went deep enough to touch the very nerve of her womb, provoking those cries which are part fear and part abandon to ecstasy. At last she began a series of short, rising cries, for all the world as if the truncheon-handle of the martinet were being forced up Sian’s butt or some other torment being applied by the hangman. So close is the association of pleasure and punishment, desire and pain. Yet, as anyone might guess, this breathless aria was the signal of her coming climax. It proved the final spur to my own release. While the first spasms possessed her, I felt my own passion boil and threaten to spill into her womb with incalculable results. I had no wish to swell Sian’s belly for her, having other plans to occupy her days and nights. I drew from her, causing a softly forlorn wail of bereavement on the girl’s part. The sperm jetted in long and passionate bursts, forming its arcs of spawn across Sian’s softly-rounded bottom-cheeks and running down between them. She lay exhausted by her ordeal, head pillowed on the mane of the rocking-horse.
I shall end this post with a collage of bare-arsed, bare-back horse riders for your delectation. Sitting astride a horse certainly enables these ladies to display their lovely curvaceous rumps to the full!
The school girl slave was conspicuous by her absence as your journey continued. You were tired, thirsty and hungry. The next door held Samantha, teasing you with her full on nakedness. She winked, but not with her eye.
How you wanted to go in, but you were so weary after your earlier exertion, that she would probably finish you off!
You walked slowly to the next booth, and an equally gorgeous sight greeted you.
The girl said, “Ooooh Sir, I am ready for a good thrashing, why not take the cane off of the wall and give me one?”
“Oh Lord….give me more strength!” You uttered as you moved on. You turned into the next room, and saw a jolly girl. “Crikey! You look worn out love! Can I help?”
“To be honest love, I need a cup of tea and something to eat.”
She laughed.
She rocked back and forth on Neddy. “Come in and sit down.”
You sat at the desk, and soon the smell of steak, chips, fried tomatoes, eggs, and peas drifted in. She brought you a huge plate, and a pot of strong tea. You ate heartily, and drank the tea gratefully.
Then you sat her on the little horse, picked up a riding crop and made her gallop!
By now you will have realised that the story and writing in this one is diminishing. You see, like the sixth form girls watching the thrashing, I want you to feel like them. Watching, wondering how many more…
The cane whistled through the air again…..and THWACK!
“Ohhhh ooooooooh oowwwwwwwwww…”Sixteen Miss”
THWACK…..”Ohhhhh …sob…sob…..Seventeen Miss!”
THWOP!!! she screams again, pitifully…”Eighteen Miss”More to come…
I think the thrashing can come to an end at this stage, they were getting a little repetitive.
