Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites him, so he writes about it. Copyright Big Billie. No unauthorised publication allowed. This story is not for monetary gain.

A Sally Trubshawe Henderson Story in Three Parts.

Part 1: Miss Joan Johnson Asks for It

I still vividly remember that trip to the West Indies.

It was in 1965 when I was 22 years old. I was a newly qualified teacher and I was having some difficulty in finding a suitable full time job. It was then that I saw an advertisement, complete with box number, in The Teacher magazine. It was in the name of a man called Johnson, and it offered a temporary post for one year in Barbados for a female governess. The successful applicant was being hired to teach Advanced Level history, geography and French to Mr. Johnson’s daughter.

The interview was with Mr. Johnson in London, while he was there on one of his business trips. He seemed to like me and it went well. The pay was not very good, but it included travel expenses and board and lodging, and this, plus the added bonus of a year in a beautiful tropical paradise, was sufficient to get me on the jet to my Caribbean destination.

On the evening of my arrival, there was a meeting. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson introduced me to my pupil, Joan. It was an experience that I found most unnerving. Joan was a lot bigger, physically, than I was. I am a petite brunette, about 5’3" tall. At that time, I was fit and sporty, with a background in ballet (at which I was a qualified instructor) and in gymnastics. Joan, however, must have been 5’10," or even, perhaps, 5’11" tall. Unlike me, she was big boned and buxom.

At 17 years old she had the full-bodied figure of an older matron, except that her waist and tummy were nicely curved inwards and her neck was long, slender and graceful. I also noticed that Joan’s hair was long, straight, thick and black and her cheeks a healthy shade of pink. Her eyes were stunning. The eyebrows, lashes and pupils were jet black, the eyeballs as white as alabaster, and the irises a deep and translucent blue. Joan’s skin, for example on her neck, upper arms and bosom where it could best be observed, was sun-tanned. This was to be expected as the mansion where she was living had a garden that stretched down to the beach. I was to learn later that, in places where it had not caught the sun such as on her breasts, buttocks, lower tummy and fanny, Joan’s skin was a beautiful milky white. Joan’s breasts were shapely, hemispherical and very well developed. I could see through her thin blouse that they had to be encased in a large and substantial bra that held them into a fetching pneumatic cleavage. My pupil was wearing thin shorts that were a little too small for her, and I could see that her legs, and particularly her bare thighs, were thick and muscular, and that her bottom was large, plump and meaty.

All this, however, would have interested and stimulated, rather than disconcerted, me if I had not sensed from Joan’s attitude that she disliked my presence in her home, and that she did not want me as her governess. I picked up this resentment partly from my observation of her sulky and hostile reaction to me, and partly from what her father said. Apparently, Joan had been withdrawn from her boarding school in England because of an attitude problem towards her teachers and her work.

Now, during my teaching practice the previous year I had been placed in a large comprehensive school in London that had some serious discipline problems. At that time I was a mere rookie and I had not coped well. In fact, the bigger teenaged girls, in particular, had run me ragged, to my deep humiliation and embarrassment. I had seen this year in the tropics as a welcome break from all that hassle, and was annoyed that Joan’s father had not been completely honest with me at interview in London.

"From what you are now telling me, Mr. Johnson," I said testily, "I feel that I am unsuitable for this job. I am newly qualified, and I do not have either the experience or the authority to cope with a difficult and unwilling pupil." I was ready to fly back to Britain at my own cost, but at last Mr. and Mrs. Johnson persuaded me to stay. It was agreed that I would give the job a trial run for 6 weeks, after which time I could return home, at their expense, if I wanted to.

What happened next amazed and transfixed me. At the end of our meeting, Mr. Johnson rounded on his daughter, and asked her to look him in the eye. "I have had enough of your disobedience and insolence towards your teachers, young lady," he said. "Why, Miss Trubshawe here was almost sent scurrying back to England at the mere report of your naughtiness." He then turned to me. "Sally," he said, "I am sorry that I misled you in London, but you were the best person I interviewed, and I badly wanted to get you here. I cannot undo my deviousness, but at least I can try to give you the authority you need to do the job." With that, he rose and walked over to a cupboard at the side of the room. Rooting inside it, he pulled out a large gentleman’s plimsoll. "Here, take this," he said, "and keep it safe. And if madam here gives you any lip or cheek, then use it to slap her down. You have my full permission and authority to employ whatever programme of corporal punishment you feel is appropriate." He turned back to Joan. "Well, my girl, what do you think of that, then?"

Joan was clearly shocked at this sudden and unexpected initiative, and her pink cheeks blushed a deeper shade of red. There followed a period of tense, embarrassed silence that seemed to go on forever. Then, just as the tension was beginning to get oppressive, Joan made her reply. "But I’m too big to be spanked" she blurted out in deep confusion and embarrassment. Her father gave a wry smile, shrugged his shoulders and left it at that. Meanwhile, I was stunned at Mr. Johnson’s salacious proposal, and at Joan’s sudden and unexpected use of the saucy and stimulating word "spanked." In the sultry evening air, beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, my mouth went as dry as desert sand, and my heart pounded fiercely against my rib cage.

For the first few weeks things went quite well. Her father’s words seemed to have had some effect on Joan, and although neither of us made any allusion to what he had said, his threat, and the authority he had given me, seemed to spur her on to scholarly efforts. I was still very nervous, however. For much of the time, Mr. Johnson was away on business, and he usually took his wife with him. Thus, I was left alone with Joan, with only Maggie, her old black nanny, and three black menservants in the house.

Worse still, as time went on, Joan became lazy and unreliable in her work. Getting her down to breakfast at a reasonable hour, for example, got more and more difficult, despite Maggie’s best efforts. Eventually, I decided to ask Maggie for her advice. She was clearly very fond of Joan, and was as worried as her parents were at the way she was squandering her education. "I don’t think talking to her will do any good, missie," she told me. "I should lay down some rules. Then tell her what they are, and that if she does not keep them, you will use that slipper like Mr. Johnson told you." We had this conversation at 8.15 a.m. Joan should have been down to breakfast 15 minutes earlier, but did not appear for another 20. When she arrived I asked Maggie to stay with us while I lectured her. I was fed up with her insolence, I told her, and with her persistent lateness and lethargy. If there were any more lack of respect, unpunctuality or laziness I would use the authority that her father had given me and discipline her physically.

This was the first time that I had mentioned corporal punishment to Joan. She blushed, partly in embarrassment and partly in anger that I should dare to bring it up, I thought. Then she blurted out that she did not intend to be spoken to like that, by me or by anyone else. There followed a tirade about how she had never wanted me as her tutor in the first place, how she had no intention of obeying my every beck and call, etc., etc. Then, calling me some choice and offensive names, she flounced off to her room.

During Joan’s tantrum, I sat there helplessly. In my view, things were going from bad to worse and there was nothing I could do about it. But then Maggie came to my aid. She pointed out that soon Joan would be going for her morning shower, and she said that, when she came out of the bathroom, a little reception party would be waiting for her. "You go into the study, missie," she said conspiratorially, "And take that big slipper with you." I did as I was told, and sat in the chair behind the big desk, slapping the plimsoll nervously against my left palm as I waited. It was, I noted, a size 10, very light and floppy, and extremely well worn, with a large, thin, smooth, flat rubber sole. Then I had a bright idea. I put the plimsoll in my brief case, clicked and strapped the case shut, and deposited it in the far corner of the room.

Meanwhile, Joan had come out from her shower. As she was on her way back to her room she had a rude shock. Maggie, who acted as the major domum when Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were away, had ordered the butler, the cook and the groom to seize her and to drag her to the study, which they did with some relish. Soon, she was standing before my desk, disoriented, dishevelled and angry.

"You know why you are here," I said abruptly, trying to keep my words to a minimum to hide my nervousness. "You have two choices. You can submit willingly or we can use force. Shall I tell these gentlemen to go, or will they be needed?"

There followed a long period of embarrassed silence, until at last Joan peevishly turned to the menservants. "Get out" she said abruptly and rudely. "And you too," she added to Maggie.

"Oh no," I said, firmly, "I want Maggie to see this." I then paused, and, keeping up my stern disciplinarian act, I looked Joan straight in the eyes. It was an effort to conceal my fear and lack of confidence, but I managed it. She stared back defiantly and insolently for a while, but then averted her gaze and looked at the floor, her spirit shaken, but not, I felt, as yet subdued.

"Right," I said sharply, and at my words Joan looked up at me again, this time with an uncertain and less confident gaze. "Take off your bath robe please." The victim seemed physically jolted by this suggestion and blushed a deep red. There was a very embarrassing silence that seemed to go on for hours.

"But I’ve got nothing on underneath," Joan finally blurted out, and for the first time she sounded vulnerable. At this news my heart leapt into my mouth. This was exactly what I had been hoping for. I found the prospect of catching Joan "on the bare" both stimulating and satisfying in the extreme. If I had said anything my voice would have cracked, so I kept silent. I tried to face my adversary out with a nonchalant and slightly amused smile. After what seemed an age, but which was more likely about ten seconds, I motioned to Joan to comply with my order. By now, I could see that she was sweating profusely in the humidity of the tropical mid-morning heat, and was beginning to look trapped. It seemed to be slowly dawning on her that, although she was much bigger, and almost certainly physically stronger, than I was, I had on my side an amount of effective force that she could not match. I kept staring into Joan’s translucent bright blue eyes. By now, my confidence was growing as Joan’s waned, and I began to realise that, if I played my cards right, I could almost certainly emerge from this interesting and stimulating personality clash as the mistress - both of Joan, and of the situation. Eventually I added, "If I have to tell you again, madam, you will be sorry."

Then, it actually happened. I watched intently as Joan slowly, reluctantly and petulantly undid the bow on the belt of her bathrobe. Soon, the belt was hanging loose and the robe fell open, revealing a stunning nude body. Then, looking flustered and embarrassed, Joan pulled the bathrobe backwards over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor in a heap.

Wow, will I ever forget that moment! Suddenly, standing bare-naked before me, at the peak of her physical beauty and fitness, was one of the loveliest ladies that I have ever seen. She was so gorgeous, big, strapping and sexy that she might have been the Greek goddess, Juno, as depicted by Titian in his painting "the Judgement of Paris." But Joan was much more youthful and nubile than Juno. Juno, in ancient Greek mythology, was the wife of the greatest god, Zeus. She must therefore have been an older and more experienced lady with ample authority to avoid the embarrassment, indignity and stinging humiliation of getting her bare bottom smacked!

Anyway, to return to Joan: from her long, swan-like neck, past her voluptuous breasts, large but youthfully pert, down to her trim, firm, inviting stomach and her broad but perfectly tapered waist, she was exquisite. Further down, the parts of her anatomy that I was more immediately concerned with for disciplinary purposes were equally appealing and even sexier. I could not see Joan’s bottom for the moment, since she was facing me, but her thighs bulged gently and gracefully outwards, and her plump, hairy labial lips curved into her crotch at the tops of her thighs, where they were lost in a downwardly pointing triangular mass of thick pubic ringlets, black and curly. Then I noticed something else that I found very sexy.

Joan’s arms, neck, midriff, thighs and legs had been tanned and toasted by the sun to a beautiful golden brown. But the sexiest bits, namely her pneumatic breasts, her lower tummy and her crotch had been covered by her bikini and were, as described above, milk white. Finally, I noticed that, sprouting from underneath Joan’s armpits, were two large, thick, luxurious and curly clumps of black hair that, together with her hirsute minge, formed a downwardly facing isosceles triangle of three dark, inviting fur balls. The total effect was stunning. Yet again, my resolution was shattered. Oh, God, I thought, what am I to do? I sat there in my chair behind the desk, and gazed intently at the naked lady before me. I do not know how long this went on, since I was so absorbed that I lost all track of time.

My victim looked so stunning and so ravishing that I do not think that I could have gone through with my disciplinary exploit if I had not got mad. But, as I stared at my big bare pupil, I slowly began to feel the anger rise within me. At first, it was towards all those big cheeky girls at the London comprehensive where I had done my teaching practice. I am from the cathedral city of Chester, and they were far too smart, metropolitan and street-wise for me. Frankly, they really gave me the run around. Worse, I think that some of the boys had admired and fancied their young trainee teacher, and this had made the girls jealous. "Ouch!" I thought to myself as I recalled my humiliation. "Those young madams were almost criminally insolent. They showed me absolutely no mercy. And now here is another young madam trying it on as well. Well this one is not going to get away with it. I will tame her spirit and show her who is the boss. I will cool her courage. Right, madam, pride comes before a fall. Prepare to get yourself slapped down good and hard."

With such thoughts as these I sat for a long while, eyeing up my prey and working up my courage. As I did so I had one of what were to be a number of very sexy thoughts. It was a very hot day, even by the standards of the West Indies, and I noticed again that the heat and humidity of the morning were building up sharply as the time approached noon. Joan, despite her nakedness and her recent cleansing and refreshing shower, was sweating ever more profusely, and was silently squirming. Her whole body was glowing. The two luxuriant clumps of hair protruding from beneath her armpits were damp and soggy. Her skin was moist, salty and glistening with perspiration, and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and on the tops of her shoulders, from where they from time to time trickled down her face, neck and upper body. From the statement on her face and the way that she was breathing heavily I could see that my nubile pupil was feeling harassed and flustered. "Wow, lady!" I pondered, my imagination excitedly bursting into rhyming couplets:

With sexy remarks I’ll make you wriggle

All hot and bothered, what a giggle!

Then with my pump I’ll play the rotter

I’ll bother you more and make you hotter!

Finally I spoke, as slowly and as authoritatively as I could given my racing heart. "Right, miss," I said. "Bring me your father’s plimsoll, please. It is in my brief case over there." And I airily pointed to the corner of the room where I had just put my case. This cunt teasing little touch has now become one of my trademarks when I am slapping butt. It is not always logistically feasible, of course, but when it is I always rile and humiliate the victim by making her fetch and hand to me the implement for her own chastisement. On this occasion, however, I had my doubts that Joan would actually do it. At first, she stood her ground and glowered back at me, outraged and angry. But I steadily returned her stare. I tried to put a confident smirk of triumph on my face. But really I felt neither confident nor triumphant, but very nervous and unsure of myself. Yet again, however, my bluff worked. I watched entranced as Joan faced away from me. For the first time in my life (but, happily, not the last!) I caught an eyeful of her big bare white bottom as she turned it towards my desk, and I ogled it intently as Joan moved to do my bidding. She undid the clasp of the case, but then nervously botched her first attempts to undo the two short straps on each side of the lock. This was hardly surprising since I had buckled them as tightly as I could to cause her this very embarrassment. Eventually, however, fuming and blushing profusely, Joan succeeded in extracting the pump from the case. She then ungraciously plonked it down on the desk in front of me. "No," I said, stretching out my open right hand. "Give it to me. Gently. Onto my hand if you please." ["Soon," I thought to myself, "I will be giving it to YOU my girl. But it won’t be gently. And it will be onto a part of your anatomy that’s a lot funnier, sexier, saucier, kinkier, more perverted, more intimate and more embarrassing than your hand!"]

When the plimsoll was firmly in my grip, I gave Joan my next order. "You see that small red mat in the centre of the room," I said. "Please stand on it and face the window." By now I was beginning to enjoy myself.

I now had my second clear, uninterrupted view of Joan’s voluptuous derrière, and again the sight made me catch my breath sharply. Compared to my own trim posterior Joan’s bottom seemed enormous. The backs of her thighs and her calves had been tanned a beautiful deep golden brown by the sun. But her bottom displayed a downwardly pointing equilateral triangle of white meat where Joan’s bikini bottom had protected her more intimate bits from the sun’s rays. The bottom point of this sexy triangle was lost in the backwardly sprouting bushy black hairs of the fanny meat. And what a bottom Joan’s was! Her soft buttocks appeared to be held together by the suppleness of youth into two large, milk-white pear-shaped hemispheres, nubile and quivering.

In my time it has given me great pleasure to have smacked the bare bottoms of a number of black ladies of Afro- and Afro-Caribbean ethnic origin. I have noticed that the buttocks of such beauties are tight and taut, so that the slipper almost seems to bounce back off them in a most pleasurable and enjoyable fashion. White ladies, however, such as Joan, bring their own disciplinary delights. In contrast to their black sisters, they seem to have softer, floppier and more vulnerable bottoms, into which the plimsoll bites nicely leaving beautiful sexy red indentations. These obviously show up better on white, rather than on dark, skin, but this is not the whole story. The really overexciting aspect is the way the nubile, fleshy meat of their bottoms shudders, wobbles and quivers to the stinging blows of the pump. At this moment in time, of course, I had all of these exquisite delights yet to taste, but I was still able to fantasise about them to the extent that I could already feel the wetness in my crotch, and my clitoris standing hard and engorged at the top outer edge of my fanny.

"Now," I said. "Put your feet together, please, and touch your toes, keeping your legs straight." Slowly and reluctantly, Joan obeyed my instructions and bent forward to touch her toes. "OK," I added. "Please wait there for me until I am ready." For my part, I did not rush. For the moment I remained seated and began to admire this new rear view of my naked pupil. Wow! She was stunning! Soon my heart was pounding and my palms were sweating as I gazed, or, rather, leered, at the sexiest thing that I think I have ever seen. This was what I was later to come to refer to as Joan’s plump, juicy fanny meat, that chunky, sexy, fleshy bit where her bum curved around to her fanny crack. Phwoarr, how did I keep from fainting as I gawped at that rear view of Joan’s quim, at the two meaty labial lips, and at the thick, curly ball of black pubic hair that sprouted backwards from those lips in luxuriant profusion? I resolved there and then that it was that part of Joan’s anatomy, the soft, sexy undercarriage of her bum where the meat was at it most plump and tender, that I would target for no less than six of my intended twelve slaps. That luxurious fanny hair, sprouting backwards in a rich clump, would be my slipper’s target. Indeed, I thought, I would try to slap through it as if attempting to bring the slipper’s sole into contact with the plump, hairy meat of the labial lips at the base of the mons veneris.

Meanwhile, Joan was bending over obediently as per instructions. Her white buttocks looked big and vulnerable as they stood out in sharp contrast to her sunburnt back, thighs and calves. Yes, my girl, I thought to myself. That’s a beautiful piece of raw, tender rump steak that you’ve got there. It’s escaped a tanning from the sun, but I will see it well roasted by my slipper! Then, slowly, I rose from my seat and walked over to Joan, positioning myself to her left hand side at right angles to her big bare bottom. I then drew back my right arm, as my right hand firmly grasped the slipper. Yes, I thought, there seems to be ample room for a good, wide swing.

Part 2: Miss Joan Johnson Gets It - Ouch!

For the next few minutes I delivered (to Joan’s bottom rather than to her face) a stern, headmistressy lecture. In the course of this I stressed the need to show respect and obedience to teachers, the necessity of appropriate punishment for the disrespectful, and the duty of the young to submit to discipline justly enforced by their elders and betters. [Respect! Elders! What a pontificating madam I was! I was less than 5 years older than Joan!] I laid it on the line, and I really rubbed it in. She had nonchalantly and arrogantly assumed that she could treat me like dirt, and seemed to think that it was funny and of no consequence when she insulted me. But to me her insouciant contempt was not funny at all. It was a very serious offence. It undermined my professional role, and made it impossible for me to do my job. On a purely personal level, I added, I had a right to be treated with courtesy. Besides, I was a proud lady, and I liked my own way. So I was going to show her who was the boss, and pull her up short in her tracks. When I had finished with her, she too would no longer consider her insubordination either amusing or trivial. I then gave a résumé, which I had rehearsed to myself beforehand, of Joan’s transgressions, particularly of her rudeness, her name-calling and other manifestations of her lack of respect, adding that she had asked for her come-uppance over and over again. She richly deserved it, and now she was going to get it. And this, I concluded, was only the first dose. There was plenty more where this came from, as she would soon be finding out. I was her governess and, from now on, I intended to govern her. And my governance would be fair but firm. If she did not show me proper respect, it would not be detentions or extra work. Big as she was, I would punish her like a naughty little girl and she would suffer the humiliation and the indignity of a bare-bottomed spanking. Her head, and her attitude to discipline, were both as hard as bone, and I could make no impression on them. But, as she would soon be finding out to her embarrassment and discomfort, her bare, unprotected bottom would prove softer, fleshier, vulnerable and much more impressionable! Throughout this harangue, Joan remained bent over, squirming, seething, indignant and angry, but, at the same time, submissive, compliant and now seemingly resigned to her fate. She did not even tell me to get on with it, although, in the circumstances, I suppose that this was understandable!

Well, the time for the denouement had now arrived and I nervously took up my stance with my legs slightly apart, still positioned at ninety degrees to Joan’s bare bottom. As the moment of truth loomed near, I was beset with the jitters yet again. The situation was so sexy that I thought at one point that I would swoon or melt into jelly. But, at last, I regained my composure. I even had a sexy idea for what to do next. I lined up the plimsoll onto the target area and pressed it to the bare meat. Then, with a sudden motion of my wrist, I flicked the slipper back and then sharply forward again, thus slapping the flat sole across the naked, exposed fanny meat of Joan’s undercarriage. My intention was to address Joan’s bare rump like a golfer addresses his ball, except that my movement was faster and sharper, and I carried through with my flick, rather than stopping it when it reached its target. I thus used the slipper rather like a horsewoman uses her riding crop, and the slap was just hard enough to be sharp and disciplinary, rather than playful. Joan’s plump white cunt flesh wobbled invitingly from the force of the blow. "Aw!" exclaimed the victim, in a rueful, miffed tone. I then left the plimsoll in the position where it had landed while I contemplated my aim. Meanwhile the fanny hairs protruded saucily from around the rim of the sole (as, of course, they protruded even more saucily from around the rim of the quim, at that moment temporarily covered by the sole!) "Come on, my girl," I said. "Those legs are not straight enough." I then gave Joan another stinging little flick with the pump, right across the fanny hairs again, applying it this time slightly harder. Joan was clearly displeased at this. "Ouch!" she responded testily. Meanwhile I gently pushed her head down towards the floor. "No. Stretch," I added. "Go on, right down. No." (Flick, crack!) "Not good enough." I thus used the slipper to gee up my victim for the third time. This time I slapped it home right across the twat yet again, and just that little bit harder still, so that, as indicated, it landed right where the other two slaps had landed with a crack that was sexily and satisfyingly shrill and high pitched, and that left me in no doubt at all that I had hit the target flush and spot on. This third flick certainly had the required effect. Although the blow was nowhere near as hard as the ones to come, Joan was obviously quite determined not to take another one like that if she could avoid it. "Aw! That hurt!" she cried, and again she sounded both rueful and angry. But by now she had got the message, and she started sweating, straining and grunting to touch her toes in the required fashion. "That’s still barely acceptable," I concluded, "But just this once I will let you off. Since this is the first time that you have taken the pump I will ascribe your failure to obey to inexperience and make a start. But keep stretching downwards and straining hard, madam. The slightest hint of any relaxation and you will catch it again, and harder!"

Over the years these saucy little tail flicks with the pump before the spanking proper commences have become part of my stock in trade. They are a sexy and amusing piece of foreplay before the fun starts in earnest and I go on to really screw the victim! I usually apply from three to six of them, and I make each flick just a little bit harder than the previous one. I always make sure that these slaps land across the back of the fanny hairs, smack onto the twat against the plump nubile cunt meat, and that each slap lands absolutely flush and exactly on top of the one before it, so that the tingling builds up incrementally. And, of course, I flick the older and bigger girls (the nubile ones with meatier twats and fanny hair!) just that little bit more freely and often, and just that little bit harder. The slaps, at least the first two or three of them, do not, I suppose, really hurt all that much. But they carry an infuriating little sting and are a saucy prelude and reminder of just how sharp the following spanks will come. The girls hate them! For example, the big strapping 16 and 17 year olds in 5C resent the 12 proper spanks that they normally get and seethe in anger when they have to take extra wallops, up to a total, as they see it, of between 15 and 18. And wow, my goodness but it doesn’t half slap them into line! If not by flick three, then almost invariably by flick six, even the most recalcitrant madam is puffing and panting and straining madly to comply with my orders! I thus always ensure that my victims’ bottoms are well stretched when they take the pump in earnest, and that there is no possibility of the girls hardening their muscles and tightening their rumps against the blows that follow. Also, by the time the fanny meat has taken between three and six of these slaps from my large, flat slipper, an amusingly ample area of it is beautifully pink, tingly and tender - tenderised, you might say, like prime rump steak, in preparation for the roasting to come! Wow, how I love a soft, vulnerable target! Meanwhile, the victim is thinking, as I crack some merry quip such as "now we can begin," that if it tingles this much before I have even started, how much more will it sting by the time I have finished. Needless to say, to encourage such thoughts, I pause after I have administered my flicks to give the victim ample opportunity to ponder what is to come, and to allow her bottom plenty of time to shudder in anticipation of what is about to hit it. During this pregnant pause, I expect the victim to continue to stretch, strain and grunt in her efforts to bend over as far as she can. Any sign of relaxation and I give her another flick, quite a hard one this time to indicate that I am losing my patience with her. And if that does not work she takes the pump again, several times if necessary, until I am sure that she is striving hard enough. Then, if she is so foolish as to relax during her chastisement, she gets another, extra, sharp flick or two. Twelve is my record total for preparatory flicks. I applied them across the rump of a rebellious 17-year-old madam who at first flatly refused to do what I said. By slap 9 or so, however, I had broken her and then, to teach her a strict lesson, another 3 sharp cracks re-echoed around the room as I gave her another three hard flicks across the thin, tightly stretched gusset of her gym knickers, thus: "Right madam, now in future remember. (Flick 10!) Do (Flick 11!!) as you are told (Flick 12!!!). OK, that’s better, now we can start." Then, after that, she got the usual 12 of the best, slapped home with just that little extra bit of spite and venom. Wow! From then on she was firmly resolved never to take another 24 swats like that ever again. At subsequent spankings she always obeyed my instructions with great promptness and tremendous enthusiasm!

But I digress. Back to Joan. "Yes, my girl," I thought as I congratulated myself on my handiwork and admired her pink, tingling rump. "I bet that stung. But that was only the beginning. Now I’m really going to make your pubic ringlets fly. Your fanny meat will soon be wobbling and tingling a lot more than that!" I then took careful aim as I again gently pressed the sole of the slipper into the bare, fanny meat, now all pink and tingling, and repeated my golfer addressing the ball act. Next, I brought back my arm, bending my knees and keeping the slipper nice and low so that I could strike the inwardly sloping pubic meat flush with a slightly upward blow, right where I had just been flicking it, and where I had then pushed the slipper’s sole to the pink, naked, tingly cunt flesh. This was my moment of triumph, and I savoured it for several seconds. As I did so, I felt another violent surge of anger and frustration well up inside me. I thought of how Joan had been systematically rude and disrespectful to me for the last two or three weeks, setting my feelings and my self esteem at naught. Who does this flipperty-gibbert think that she is, I thought. I’ll give it to her! Big as she is, I’ll cut her to size! No matter where it ends I am going to teach her a short, sharp lesson that she will never forget. I will make her wince and shudder to remember this day, even when she is an old lady. After a little while pondering such thoughts, I was seething with anger and determined to let Joan have it. I felt spiteful and malicious and I wanted revenge. "Right, madam," I thought in exultation and triumph, "It’s show time! I will make you feel sorry for yourself! I will make you regret what you have done! I will make you rue the day that you ever dared to cross ME! I will tame you and slap you into line! I will punish you strictly and severely for your insolence! Take that!"

I then brought round the pump, very smartly and firmly, onto Joan’s plump tingly pink fanny meat. By now I was, as I have said, hopping mad at Joan. But, by a great effort of will, I still managed to control my anger. I was careful not to use every ounce of my strength, since I did not want to hurt Joan too badly. I was determined to humiliate her and to make her tingle like hell. But I wanted to sweat her, wind her up and get her hopping mad, not to break her or to reduce her to tears. Even so, the pump fairly whistled through the air. Fortunately, and more by luck than judgement, my aim was impeccable. I had never used corporal punishment on anyone before, and I was very green and inexperienced. But luckily my first blow landed absolutely flush, right slap across both bare buttocks, just above the backs of the thighs, with a loud, crisp, crack. As the blow landed, I also noticed that, as I had anticipated, Joan’s tousle of black fanny hairs were blown and scattered every which way by the breeze from the pump, and the pink cunt meat quivered and wobbled in the most alluring and sexy fashion. The sharp crack that rang out as the slipper hit home, and the stimulating sight of Joan’s flying fanny hairs and shuddering bum flesh, caused my fluttering heart to leap under my rib cage. But there was something else that I also found unbelievably sexy. Joan’s quivering arse meat wobbled the sole of my plimsoll, and the wobbling was transmitted to the palm and fingers of my right hand as I gripped the pump around its heel. It was a delicious feeling! It almost felt as if I had slapped Joan with the flat of my hand. However, because I had not used my hand, but a gym pump, my palm and fingers were tingling a lot less, and Joan’s bottom much, much more!

I next gave a satisfied grin as I heard Joan gasp audibly. She was clearly shocked and taken aback by the force of the blow and she breathed in sharply through her teeth. "Yes, madam," I thought, "I may be green, but I’ll redden you. Now I’ve got you on the hop I won’t half make you bite your lip." Then my mind started racing with all sorts of sexy quips. "If you’re rude, I’ll slap you nude." "When you offend, you’ll bare and bend." And so on.

I was compos mentis enough, however, to pause before delivering my next slap. I took my time and waited for Joan’s bottom to tingle. Soon I triumphed to see the sexy red imprint of my slipper in sharp outline, like a red coloured tattoo etched across the plumpest and sexiest parts of both buttocks, right where they were already pink and tingling from my three preparatory slaps. When she got married in a few years time, I mused, that was exactly where her husband (lucky man!) would be slamming her with his stiff and excited cock. Joan was a big, lusty girl, and she would enjoy that. But for the moment that part of her body which would later give her exquisite and voluptuous pleasure was being slammed hard not by a young man’s cock but by my slipper, and her cunt flesh was taking the rap of a sexy and humiliating punishment. What a superb way to chastise a big, cocky teenager! She was of marriageable age, large, lusty, and almost certainly eager for sex. But instead of the delights of the marriage bed, she was taking this stinging, undignified and demeaning chastisement. She was being spanked like a naughty little girl (only MUCH harder!) right across the most adult, womanly, intimate and sexy part of her body (the "X" certificate bit). What a beautiful and poetic method of humbling her and bringing her to heel! She would surely shudder and wince years later as her husband rhythmically walloped her cunt meat with his cock to recall this earlier walloping, far more humiliating and painful yet, in a kinky kind of way, every bit as sexy. In fact, for me, as the excited observer and a keen aficionado of spanking, it was considerably sexier. Yet again, doggerel verses formed in my imagination. "It’s not a cock that slams your cranny, it’s a pump slapped hard across your fanny."

Meanwhile, from the middle of the red weal across Joan’s buttocks, the voluptuous curly black tousle of fanny hair still sprouted backwards from between her bum cheeks, having now reformed itself into a thick ball after its recent scattering. This too, I found unbelievably sexy. Those thick, bushy black hairs were the physical and biological proof of Joan’s puberty, adulthood, and femininity, and they were blatantly, jauntily and indelicately sprouting from the very seat and centre of her sexuality. It stimulated me almost to orgasm to think how that fur-ball of pubic hair was about to be scattered again and again by my trusty pump, and of how the nubile cunt meat from which it sprung was about to be rapped, wrung, stung and reddened. My common sense told me that Joan was far too old, far too big, far too nubile, and far too sexy to suffer this stinging indignity. It was all too preposterously funny, absurdly droll, ludicrously amusing and ridiculously hilarious. In other words, it was the most exquisite and perfect come-uppance for her. Oh wow! This revenge of mine, I thought to myself, was very, very sweet. More sexy quips formed in my mind: "Yes, my bonny bird, just feel how I’ll ruffle your tail feathers. I’ll singe your minge for you and no mistake."

Joan’s sexy predicament struck me as being very, very funny. But she clearly thought that it was anything but a joke. The force of that first spank, and the loud, sharp crack that it made as it struck home, had clearly been a distinct and unexpected shock for her, and it made her hopping mad at me. Then, over the next four seconds or so, as her bum began to tingle and ring like a bell, she got even more infuriated. "Oh! Oh!" she muttered angrily, "That stings, that really, really stings. Oh, you bitch! You bastard! You absolute cow! How dare you do that to me! Who the hell do you think…?" Crack!

While Joan was venting her spleen against me, I slowly and deliberately pulled back my arm again and took careful aim. Then, just as she was in the middle of her rantings, and just when the tingling from spank number 1 reached its crescendo, I brusquely and peremptorily cut across her comments. However, I said nothing. Instead, I let my slipper do the talking. Just at the very moment when her bum had fully felt slap number one, and she was at the height of her vexation and fury, I gave her another one! Having scored my first bull’s eye, I found that I was able to hit home with the same accuracy a second time. The pump whistled through the air, and hit its target with a crack so sharp and high pitched that it sent a frisson down my spine. Again, the fanny hairs were scattered, the nubile meat of the bottom shuddered and quivered deliciously, and I was gratified to see that the second red mark overlapped more or less exactly with the first one. The force of this second blow temporarily nonplused Joan. She abruptly ceased her diatribe against me in mid-sentence. Instead she grunted involuntarily and breathed in sharply. "Wow, lady," I thought, my mind careering off again into erotic thoughts, "This is just the beginning. Am I going to rattle your big meaty arse for you!"

As the tingle from this second spank was incrementally added to that from the first, Joan took up again her sexy and rebellious verbals. "Oh, you cow, you absolute cow! Aw! Aw!! Aw!!! Oh, my God, that stings! That really, really stings! I’ll get you for this, you bitch! I’ll have you sacked for it! Wait till I tell daddy! I’ll have you on the next plane back to London before your feet can touch the ground. I’ll sort you, you bastard, just you see if I don’t! ... (Etc.)...." Now, with this line of attack, dear reader, Joan hit me right on the raw. Despite my seeming self-confidence I was by no means sure that I was not overstepping the mark with my saucy disciplinary exploits. It seemed to me in the heat of the moment (and indeed for long afterwards) a distinct probability that Joan’s father would be outraged if and when he heard the salacious details of her punishment. Despite the permission that he had given me to spank his daughter, surely he would consider this come-uppance of hers to be well over the top? I was beginning to enjoy my job in the West Indies, and I did not want to go home just yet. Yet if Joan complained loud enough to her dad that was exactly what I could see myself being forced to do. The thought miffed me, and made me even angrier with Joan than I had been before. "So you would tell tales on me, would you, madam?" I thought to myself. "You would get me sacked would you? How dare you threaten me! How dare you even suggest such a thing! I may never catch you bending again, but while my luck holds and I have your bare buttocks at my mercy I will take my chance to enforce a sharp and sexy revenge." Then, as my anger and frustration welled up to its peak, I again cut across Joan’s diatribe against me in the sexiest and most effective fashion that I could think of. With more than a hint of malice and venom in my riposte, I hit her with a third hard spank. Crack!!

"Ouch! Oh! You bitch! You cunning, vindictive vixen! Aw! Aw!! Aw!!! You may hold the whip hand now, you cow, but just you wait! Just you fucking well..." WHACK!!! Again, it may have been rather rude and ill mannered of me, dear readers, but, at the height of Joan’s ravings, I gave her another one. As I explain below, this fourth slap I aimed higher up Joan’s bottom, onto white meat that had as yet remained unchastised. But, my goodness, I made her pay a sharp and sexy penalty for threatening me with the sack again, and also for that "fucking" of hers! Yes, I made her rue her indelicate and unladylike use of a 4-letter word! Wow! Did I give her something to rattle her arse and make her feel sorry for herself! That fourth spank was a beauty, and it left Joan in absolutely no doubt that, while I may have been initially amused by her insolence, her threats and her bad language were now beginning to annoy me, and I would tolerate them no longer. In short, it was time for the victim to shut up, or else! "Aaagh!" she cried. But then, at long last, she realised that, at least for the time being, I had her fast by the hairs of her well-developed and hirsute fanny, and that there was nothing that she could do about it. She therefore sensibly decided to sweat her temper, to stop threatening and swearing at me, and to suffer the rest of her stinging, undignified and humiliating come-uppance in angry but compliant submission.

Now let me narrate a few more details of what was happening at Joan’s rear end. The third slap I delivered to the same part of Joan’s rump, onto its sexy undercarriage. But then, to give her some relief from that merciless trip hammering, I applied the next six slaps higher up, to those parts of the butt that until then had remained unchastised. I aimed ad lib at the plumpest and whitest bits, trying my best to spread the smacks as evenly as I could over the whole bottom, and to turn it a nice even shade of red. The problem was that Joan had a big bottom, and I only had 12 spanks to play with. But my trusty slipper, with its big, flat sole, was more than equal to the task. Swish, crack, sting, pause, tingle; swish, crack, sting, pause, tingle was the remorseless sequence as I continued to allow plenty of time for the bare bum to tingle between each slap. The fourth whack, the particularly sharp one, landed right across the middle of the rump, the meat of the seat, as you might say. Then I aimed above and below this central benchmark until the whole bottom was an even shade of red except for the nubile fanny meat on Joan’s undercarriage, which was a deeper hue. I must say that it was a great help to me that the bottom was bare, since I could see exactly where to aim. Every time I struck the target, the crack of plimsoll against bare meat rang out sharply and sexily, and Joan gave little gasps and cries at the force of the blows.

For the last three strokes, I returned again to the plump fanny meat, the epicentre of my assault. I was still determined that, by the time I was done, it would have taken in all a full six of the best. I also made sure that the punishment built up to a shattering and orgasmic climax. Swish, crack went the tenth slap, just a little bit harder than all of the previous nine except for number 4, and onto meat that by now, even after its short respite, must have been ringing like a bell, and really raw, sore and tender. Meanwhile Joan continued to let out sharp grunts and cries of pain at every slap as her reddened bottom quivered and danced. Again I waited for Joan to feel the full sting of slap number ten. Then, even harder, I gave her slap eleven. "Oh!" she cried involuntarily. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I looked down, and saw that she was wincing. "At last, madam," I thought, "I think I am beginning to get through to you." Then I girded up my loins for the final spank. Into slap number 12 I put just a little bit of extra spite, malice and venom, giving it almost all that I had, and completing a blistering finale to my act. The slipper whistled home for the last time (for the moment) and cracked sharply against the tender, reddened fanny meat. Joan gasped audibly and her bottom shuddered again. "Woooh, woooh, aaagh!" she murmured gently as her bum smarted at the full accumulated tingling and stinging of my 12 of the best.

Part 3: More Fun and Games

Next I rapped out an order. "Stay where you are, young lady, and keep your fingers on your toes. If you move from position before I say so, you will regret it." I then returned to my seat behind the desk to view my triumph. Joan’s big bare bottom was covered with the red weals from my slipper. Over most of the bum these had merged into each other to form a large, deep, even, red patch. The fanny meat, of which I had a perfect view as Joan bent over, as I had intended, was even redder than the rest of the target area. Then, below the bottom, the two broad, plump backs of the upper thighs gently bulged out in brown, sun-tanned contrast to the red meat and the black clump of fanny hair above them. "Wow," I thought. "I bet that stings."

I was now sitting down directly opposite Joan, as she was facing and bending away from me. My eyes were at about the same level as her cunt meat. From this angle I suddenly noticed something that made me breathe in sharply. Past and beyond her pubic ringlets Joan’s two plump labial lips and her cunt slot between them were on full and prominent display as they hung invitingly and alluringly below and behind her crotch. It was exactly as if Joan were presenting her rump to a mate, inviting him to insert his stiffened cock beneath and between her hot, reddened buttocks and into her receptive pussy. "Wow!" I mused. "What a sharp and explosive shag that would be! Oh God! You are bending over there just asking for it, my girl! If I were a red bloodied male I would be very hard pressed to avoid taking and violating you right now. In the passionate heat of this moment it would be more than worth a long prison sentence for the rape and pillage of your virginity. I thought of my little brother, John. He was shy with ladies, but he was very interested in them. What, I wondered to myself, would he not have given, at that moment, for a ten-minute assault on Joan’s vulnerable and unprotected pussy. Wouldn’t he just love to rub his bare cock up and down her fanny! Whack! Poke, rub, grunt, poke, rub, grunt, etc. Joan would have been caught at a hopeless disadvantage, and within seconds her chastity would have been dead meat! I suppose what helped to stimulate these saucy thoughts was that I was not getting it myself at that time. I was sharply frustrated and my mind conjured up some very graphic fantasies! Thus, for between five and ten minutes, I continued to stare entranced at Joan’s bare, bending rump and hairy fanny while I gave my imagination full reign and felt my crotch grow even wetter, and my clitoris become even harder in my knickers.

At last, however, I snapped out of my trance and gave another order. "Right, now listen carefully. I want you to move you fingers from your toes and put your hands on top of your head, rising to stand upright as you do so. You will then stand still and await further instructions" Her spirit now tamed, at least temporarily, Joan silently and obediently complied. Now that she was standing up, I had an even better view of her gorgeous body: the long, straight black hair cascading down over her shoulder blades; the graceful inward curvature of her broad waist; the wide, outwardly sloping hips; the big, sexy red bottom with thick black fanny hair sprouting from underneath it; the broad meaty sun-tanned thighs; and the beautiful shapely brown calves. Whew! Again I stared enchanted, and again I know not for how long.

Finally, I asked Joan to turn round and face me. As she did so, I noticed with satisfaction that, in her humiliation and embarrassments, Joan was blushing profusely so that the cheeks of her face were almost as red as the cheeks of her bottom. I then took my chance to get a last, lingering stare at Joan’s ravishing front view. I remembered what my little brother, John, used to say about ladies, and about what turned him on. "Bums and tits," he would say. "Bums and tits, and eyes and thighs." So now I stared into Joan’s translucent, bright blue eyes and then gazed down at her plump, pneumatic boobs. These were milky white apart from the two delicious red nipples in the middle of each breast, because, as I have said, they had been protected from the sun by Joan’s bikini top. They stood out in contrast to the surrounding tanned meat on the upper bosom, arms and tummy. Then my eyes roved further down Joan’s figure again, to admire the white triangle of flesh and the hairs around her fanny, and, below these, her plump, meaty upper thighs, which had been bronzed a beautiful shade of brown by the sun. "God!" I thought. "You’re beautiful. The lucky devil who marries you will get infinitely more pleasure than any son of Adam deserves, or has any right to, in this imperfect and sinful world."

By now my anger had been successfully vented, and I began to think that I had perhaps used the slipper a little too freely on Joan. I think that if she had broken down and wept I would have been devastated with remorse. The spanking had jolted me into ecstasies of sexual pleasure, and the effect was like a drug. I was hooked, and I knew that I must have more fixes. I was certain that I would try to engineer more chances to smack Joan’s bare bottom, and I felt guilty about it. What was so kinky and exciting was that I was being such a spiteful and vindictive bitch. I had vented my spleen on my victim out of pique, and not as a responsible teacher administering due and appropriate chastisement. Joan had riled me, and I had exacted my revenge with haughty malice. The appalling thing was that I was really proud and pleased with the way I had slapped her down. It had sexually excited me more fiercely than anything else I could remember, and I was shocked and puzzled at the sharpness of my pleasure. If, or, as I hoped, when, I smacked Joan’s bare bottom again I vowed to try not to do it purely for my own perverted joy in mastering and dominating her. But I was only a petite little madam, and I had got a real kick out of bending this big strapping filly to my will. I had brought her so sharply and so pleasurably to heel that I decided to make myself no promises.

Anyway, for the moment, I thought that the time had come to be more sympathetic to my charge. I smiled pleasantly. "OK," I said, in as cheerful and kindly a voice as I could muster. "We will talk about where we go from here at 11 o’clock. Put your bathrobe on, go back to your room and compose yourself." Joan turned away from me to pick up her bathrobe, presenting me with another view of her big red bottom. And then she did something that I found very sexy. It was now at least ten minutes since the last slap had landed on her bum, and Joan was no longer smarting and tingling from her punishment to any great extent. This, indeed, as I have noted elsewhere, is one of the great advantages of slipperings. They sting like hell at the time, in the most vexing and infuriating way. But, on the other hand, they do no lasting damage and the victim soon regains her composure. Joan had by now clearly done this. However, she still brought both hands off the top of her head and, very ruefully and lovingly, almost wistfully, she rubbed and massaged the fanny meat of both buttocks with her fingers. While she did this she took no thought of covering her nakedness. She continued slowly and in an exaggeratedly gingerly fashion for about twenty to twenty-five seconds, taking care that her bum was pointed towards me so that I got an excellent view. Indeed, Joan was clearly hamming it up. She was so provocative, almost raunchy, in her actions that I could only conclude that she was deliberately trying to turn me on - very successfully, I might add! Joan was clearly embarrassed, vexed and hopping mad at her sharp, saucy and humiliating chastisement. But, like me, she too seemed to find it sexy, salacious and amusing, even though the joke was on her.

I noted with satisfaction that Joan came down five minutes early for our 11 o’clock tryst. She had changed into a pretty, flowery and very feminine summer frock. It was thin, low cut and close fitting around her waist so that it showed off the tops of her boobs, her cleavage and her curvy waistline very well. But then it emphasised her broad bottom and hips by flaring out beautifully over her thighs. It ended, cut off, just above the knees of her bare legs. I paid particular attention to Joan’s mood, however, and was surprised to see that she seemed somewhat chirpy. For all her faults, I knew that this was an open and generous girl who would not hold grudges.

"Ah, Joan," I said good-naturedly. "Hello again. Won’t you take a seat?"

"If it is all the same to you," she replied, not without a slight twinkle in her eye, "I think I would rather lean." And she stretched herself out, in an alluring pose, against the wall, taking a somewhat theatrical and exaggerated care that her bottom did not come into contact with it.

"Well," I asked, looking squarely into her translucent, bright blue eyes. "What have you got to say for yourself, then?"

She gazed back at me, without resentment or dislike. "Well," she said. Then she paused. "If our roles were reversed, I don’t expect you would have much to say would you?" I smiled good-naturedly. "In your dreams, lady," I thought to myself. "O.K.," she went on, in a tone that suggested that for her the incident was over, "I admit it. I damn well deserved it, didn’t I?" Then she smiled and ruefully rubbed her bottom again through her thin dress and knickers, not in pain but for the undignified and comical effect, as if acknowledging, for the second time, that the joke was on her.

I had thought out my next speech in advance, and I now proceeded to deliver it. I intended to continue with a programme of corporal punishment, I told her, but it was for her own good, and it would mainly be used as a threat, to encourage her to work. There would be a system of merit and demerit marks, and she would only get the slipper when she had amassed 12 demerits. At any time she could bring down her tally of demerits by undertaking extra studies, and each hour of overtime would earn her one merit mark (the equivalent, although I did not say it, of avoiding one spank.) Even when she reached 12 demerits, she would not be punished immediately, but I would negotiate with her a grace period during which, if she worked hard, she might hope to escape the rap. If, after this time, however, she ended up with more than twelve demerits, she would be disciplined, and the surplus demerits above 12 would be carried forward. Three times a year, before the Christmas, Easter and summer breaks, all demerits would be cancelled, although any merits would be carried forward. Merits would be awarded for good and conscientious work, and demerits for laziness, unpunctuality, etc. She would never get a demerit for trying her best, I assured her, for example in her weak subject history, even if her performance was disappointing. Over and above this system of merits and demerits, however, there would be a short list of offences that carried an immediate retribution. These included deliberate and perverse disobedience and wilful lack of respect. I did not realise it at the time, but this was a significant speech I was making. I have from time to time used a similar system of discipline throughout my teaching career.

"Well," I concluded, "Any questions?" Since her spanking Joan seemed to be in some awe of me and to accept my authority over her, at least in principle. I was surprised to see that she appeared to have no real quarrel with the gist of what I had said. But, naturally enough, one or two things concerned her.

"O.K.," she said grudgingly, "I suppose I could do with something to keep me on my toes. But what punishment do I get if I don’t come up to scratch."

"One slap from the slipper for each of your 12 demerit marks."

"And what will I be wearing at the time?" As she asked this, she gave a saucy little simper in anticipation of my answer.

"Absolutely nothing. Your instructions are to report dressed only in your bathrobe, which you will be asked to remove before being chastised." When she heard this reply, Joan let out a sexy little giggle. But then she sobered up. She thought long and hard, during which time I gazed steadily into her stunning blue eyes.

"Wow," she gasped. Then, "Hey! That’s not fair! That would really tingle!" She tried to sound indignant. But I detected in her voice a tone of exaggerated outrage and amused mock horror, as if she found the idea comical and risqué. Then she paused. "Ouch!" she cried out gently. And she rubbed her bottom ruefully again with both hands through her clothing in remembrance and realisation of exactly what my words meant. "Phwoah! 12 of the best! With that enormous slipper! Across the bare bum! I’m too old for that! I’m far too big to be spanked! Oh, the humiliation! I would feel a complete fool! And I bet it wouldn’t half sting! Oh, wow, wow, wow!" Again she sounded incensed and affronted, but at the same time fascinated, amused and sexually turned on. At any event, she did not seriously argue with me. She realised, I think, that I had the whip (or rather the plimsoll!) hand. She knew that I could call on the servants for support to enforce my regime physically if I had to. She thus resigned herself to the inevitable in a spirit of cheerfulness and acceptance. In my view, to strip and smack a big sexy 17-year-old lady was over-stimulating to the brink of orgasm, and the very stuff of farce. What a hilarious and ridiculous plight for the victim! It was very saucy, very funny and a real turn on. I was stunned, however, as I had been earlier, that Joan seemed to agree with me, even though it was her who was being made to "bare and bend." The sexy joke was on her, but she did not seem to mind. Indeed, she seemed stimulated by the situation. Thus, far more easily than I had thought possible, the matter was settled, and we got on with our lessons.

I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my year in the West Indies. My incentive scheme worked well, and really kept Joan on her toes. I did not spank her all that often, but I still got a big kick out of saying "three demerits, my girl" or "lady, six demerits" since I knew that what I was really saying was "madam, take three/six slaps from the plimsoll across your bare bottom." I could, of course, have dished out penalty points like confetti and had myself a ball, if I had wanted to. Certainly, I tried to keep up the pressure on Joan by constantly pushing her to the 12 points threshold, and sometimes I did spank her, to remind her what it felt like and to keep her on her toes. But, on the other hand, I had grown fond of my charge. I often gave her a chance to redeem demerits by doing extra work, and I never again spanked her in vindictiveness or anger. Thus, sadly, with Joan (unlike with some of my other victims!) I never recaptured that fierce sexual ecstasy that I had felt the first time I chastised her.

Even so, Joan took the rap a fair number of times, and on each occasion it gave me great pleasure. I maintained exactly the same successful format as employed in our first punishment session. First I warmed Joan’s fanny meat with a few preparatory tail flicks. Then, during the spanking proper, the first and last three slaps were always applied, with great accuracy if I say so myself, to the sexy, intimate undercarriage of fanny meat adjacent to the pubes. And the middle six spanks were aimed ad lib over the rest of the bare bum, very briskly and sharply.

The sessions were more relaxed now, since I knew that I was mistress of the situation and of Joan and that she would obediently comply with my orders. Thus the "kinky spiteful bitch tames rebellious madam" theme, which had turned me on so violently the first time I spanked Joan, was never, unfortunately, to reappear. I still got a big kick out of it all though, especially from the whackings that I dished out after Joan turned her eighteenth birthday in the February of the year after I arrived. Wow, but that was sexy! Nineteen sixty-five to six was just before the age of majority was lowered to 18 from 21. Today you would not be able to spank a young lady of 18 to 21, unless, perhaps, you had her permission. If you spanked her against her will, you could easily face a charge of indecent assault. But 18 to 21 year old ladies (and their bottoms!) had no such protection in the mid-1960s! Then they were still defined as children. Thus, in the case of Joan, I was in loco parentis, and I had full authority from her father to whack her. Unlike today, she had no right to refuse and no legal redress against her chastisement. Did I say that Joan was legally defined as a child? Some child! She was, of course, by the time of her eighteenth birthday and the slappings that followed it, a fully-grown lady, biologically mature and beautifully developed. The legal position that allowed me to slap her bare bottom as if she was a little girl was as ridiculous as it was sexy, amusing and kinky. I could not believe my luck.

Alas, with the more recent legislation, I am unlikely to slap the bare bums of many more 18 to 21 year old girls! Those were happy days that will never return and I often recall how I felt at the time. My main emotion, I think, was amusement at the ridiculous and hilarious spectacle of a big, fully-grown lady, a woman of marriageable age, having to bare her bottom, present it for chastisement, and get it smacked like a little child. Even funnier, she used to get it smacked very hard. I never again slapped Joan in anger. But I still laid on the pump very sharply and smartly. Indeed, after her eighteenth birthday I took to slapping her bottom just that little bit harder than before. She complained about this, and said that she was now too old to be spanked at all. Instead of her chastisement abating, however, it was being applied with renewed vigour. Secretly I saw her point. I was still applying those stinging and infuriating little tail flicks across the fanny meat before the spanking proper. Then, when I began to whack Joan in earnest, I was still allowing just enough time for her bum to tingle after each smack. And then there were the ten minutes of bending over and standing up, hands on head, afterwards, during which bum rubbing was verboten. During that time Joan would be stinging, tingling and smarting, and her naked body and her bare, well-smacked bum were exposed, in all their intimate splendour, to my enraptured gaze. Wow, I really let her have it, and I bet it didn’t half sting! At her age, I could understand why she thought such treatment was inappropriate.

Another sexy aspect of Joan’s spankings was that she used to protest while I was chastising her, and also before and afterwards. I enjoyed this and, within reason, was fairly tolerant of it. We were living in intimate proximity to each other and it was impossible for me to maintain a disciplinary aloofness and hauteur. My official stance, however, was that Joan should take her chastisement in compliant silence, and that if she did not she was liable to be made to pay for her indiscretions.

Joan used to get particularly infuriated by my preparatory tail flicks. For example, I would give her one. Smack! "Go on!" I would tell her. "Stretch and bend!"

"Ouch!" Joan would yell indignantly. "That hurt! And I am stretching, you cow!"

Next I would wait about four seconds, for Joan to fully feel the effects of my first flick. Then I would give her another one. Smack!! "That one was for insolence, young lady!" This would normally enforce a temporary period of silence. Then I would wait another four seconds before... Smack!!! "And that’s for still not stretching! Go on! Down! You are beginning to annoy me!"

"Aw! Aw! Aw! Oh, you bastard! You absolute 24 carat bitch!"

Four-second wait, then the victim would catch it again, and harder: SMACK! This time I would not comment on my flick, since the reason for inflicting it was obvious.

Next Joan would continue with her verbals into the spanking proper. For example, "Ouch! Too hard!" she would shout, and every time she did this I always made the next slap slightly harder still. A lot of her interjections, however, escaped without punishment as long as they seemed to me to be reasonable. "Aw! That tingles!" she would yell, and I was forced to concur that this was a fair comment! Sometimes Joan seemed to grudgingly admire my handiwork. "Aaagh! Oh, my God! That was a beauty!" she would cry, "Ouch! That really, really stings!" And, flattered, I would exact no extra retribution. Other stock condoned comments were as follows. "Wow! I’m too big for this!" "I’m 18, for God’s sake! I’m too old!" "Oh, hell! I feel a complete fool!" "Ouch! Across the bare bum again! That’s indecent that is!" "(Whack!) Ngh! This is hurting my dignity! (Pause. Whack!) Ngh! And other places!"

Meanwhile I would sometimes add to my enjoyment by reciting little pre-composed doggerel verses to myself. Here are some examples. As you can see they are all pretty awful. "Fanny hairs all in a clump, take the pump across your rump, chump!" "Bum all bare, bending there, furry clump of fanny hair, slipper whistles through the air. Crack!" "Crack, crack, crack the slaps all go, wince and grunt it stings you so, where you’d never show your beau."

Joan always made a parting shot after spank number 12, when she knew I could not immediately get her back. I usually accepted this with good grace, except that if she was too cheeky I might threaten her with three demerits unless she apologised. This usually pulled her back into line. Then, in the ten minutes of hands on head, her comments and complaints would continue. Again, unless she was especially cheeky, I would let her get on with it, listening to her backchat with interest. I always knew that, if she went too far, the threat to inflict three demerits would soon tame her. I think, on the whole, that it was probably these verbals that made me enjoy my chastisement of Joan more than most of my other disciplinary exploits. In those later years when I was a schoolteacher the girls always took their correction in silence, or else restricted their utterances to "Aws" "Ohs" "Ouches" and other involuntary expletives. Of course, I could have made Joan stop if I had wanted too. And she could have stopped herself at any time. But, despite the extra chastisement that her comments sometimes brought to her, she seemed to like to have her say. I think that, as for me, her salacious verbals gave her a sexy thrill.

Naturally enough in the circumstances, Joan would continue to complain about my disciplinary code before her punishment commenced, and again when it was over. However, I pooh-poohed her objections, which she used to make most vociferously before she was due to take the rap. I always spanked her after her shower in the morning, and during breakfast she would complain bitterly about what was about to hit her. But I always answered her firmly, politely, and with a twinkle in my eye. She still had three years to go before she was an adult, I said, and that meant three more years of whackings. If I was still her tutor, and if she deserved it, I would not hesitate to chastise her, even on the eve of her 21st birthday. In any case, so what? It was no big deal. It was true that I was a bit brisk and free with the pump, but then, if the punishment was to be effective, I had to be. And, in any case, it was only a mild slippering, not a serious beating with a cane. I supposed it stung a bit, but then it was supposed to. It did not, I should imagine, tingle for long, and it did her no lasting injury or harm. It was true that I was laying it on a bit harder. But she was bigger now, and her bum could take it. Besides, her exams were closer, so there was even more need to keep her on her toes. The discipline was firm and strict, but it needed to be if it was to do her any good. She might not realise it now, but there would come a time, after she had passed her exams, when she would heartily thank me for smacking her bare bottom for her. Yes, when she was older, we would both joke and laugh at how stroppy and insolent she had been, and at how she had been so effectively and amusingly slapped into line.

During these lively and interesting breakfast-time debates on the appropriateness of my disciplinary methods, Joan often tried another tack that I found very sexy. Even if you accepted, she would say, that her spankings were justified, that was still no excuse for whacking her on the bare, so hard, and so many times. At her age it was undignified to have to strip off. She should have the right to take it while wearing knickers and jeans. Even then, the slaps would really sting. They should therefore be applied less vigorously. And just one slap, in her view, would constitute an adequate punishment, or perhaps two or three if she had been very naughty. But twelve really hard ones across the bare bum was too much, and very demeaning.

My answer to these arguments you can probably work out for yourselves. To be effective, I would say, the punishment had to sting and humiliate. It was like with speeding and parking tickets. Motoring fines had to be punitive and prohibitive if they were to slap the culprits into line. If they were set at levels that offenders thought were reasonable they would have little deterrent value. I was the appropriate person to determine her punishment, and I had a duty to make it sharper and more humiliating than she thought it ought to be. Then I would send Joan off to her shower, telling her to report to the study in her bathrobe by 9 a.m. sharp. I would then remind her, as she flounced off indignant and fuming, that she was going to get 12 of the best from the slipper across her bare bum. You can bet that I didn’t half tease my victim, and that I never let her off the hook. And my comments had exactly the effect that I wanted them to have. They really wound Joan up and, to my great amusement, made her hopping mad.

The end.

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