Bad Penny (15 page)

I had chosen a combination chemise and drawers, which fitted well but was just pleasantly tight across my bottom. Rather than being open at the back, these allowed access by a panel which could be unbuttoned to bare the wearer's bottom, either for ablutionary purposes or for punishment. I had chosen it because I really liked the idea of feeling the buttons popped open one by one while I was held helpless over her lap. I've always loved the moment of exposure before punishment, even if it's just my bikini bottoms being tweaked down when I'd been showing most of my bottom anyway. With the panel-backed combinations, the sensation would be more exquisite by far.

We put petticoats on over our foundation garments, three each so that our hips appeared to flare in a wonderfully exaggerated fashion. Vicky then produced some tights which we cut down to make knee-length stockings and tied in place with lengths of ribbon. Our corsets followed, although they had become a trifle fragile with age and it was impossible to lace each other up as tightly as we might have liked. To remedy this, we bandaged our tummies and eventually managed to get my waist down to an impressive eighteen inches and Vicky's to twenty, which was perhaps even more extreme given her height.

The feeling of restriction was intensely erotic, although I imagine a lot of that was the unfamiliarity of the clothes and the erotic associations that we ourselves invested in them. My dress was butter yellow and lacy, and had the sweetest little pinny and mob cap to go with it. Once I had got into it, I felt fully in role as a Victorian girl, demure yet cheeky, alarmed by the thought of showing so much as her ankles, yet constantly aware of the threat of bare-bottomed discipline should she stray. I realised that I was probably exaggerating my role, but didn't care, intent instead on getting the most out of my fantasy.

Vicky had looked sweet in her underwear, like those wonderful old French photographs of partially naked Parisian
demimondaines.
The black dress transformed her completely, into a tyrannical, stern governess, who looked as if she would administer a dozen strokes of the cane to her charges' squirming bottoms as soon as look at them. I put her long black hair into a severe bun to complete the image, resulting in a look that had me weak at the knees.

We stood looking at each other for a long while, each allowing our respective fantasies to come to maturity. For me, I was Miss Penelope, a well-brought-up young lady with just enough of the rebel in her to ensure that she got into trouble. I would be with my governess, of whose control I was immensely resentful, considering myself far too grown up to need supervision. My imaginary parents would take a very different view, considering me considerably less cultured than I should be and in need of frequent discipline to keep me on the straight and narrow. They would have given my governess complete authority over me, including the imposition of physical discipline whenever and however she felt I needed it. Punishing me was a task she would take to with an attitude of self-righteousness, based on her certain knowledge that it would do me good. Despite her very real belief that she was dishing out no more than justice, she would take a deep and abiding pleasure in inflicting pain and humiliation on me in her efforts to turn me into a well-brought-up young lady.

As Vicky was in the dominant role, it would be up to her to control the run of our play, yet I knew I could rely on her to ensure that I didn't escape my just desserts. I wasn't sure quite how she saw my role, and wouldn't ask until it was over and we were lying in each other's arms with our clothing in erotic disarray.

She tilted her delicate chin up a fraction of an inch and I hung my head in response. It had begun.

‘You are a wilful, stubborn girl, Penelope,' she began. ‘Now will you confess to your sin?'

‘It was another and not I, Miss Victoria,' I replied.

‘Nonsense, as well you know,' she snapped. ‘And you shall address me as Miss Belstone, child.'

‘Yes, Miss Belstone,' I responded meekly, ‘yet it was not I.'

‘A liar as well as a thief,' she said. ‘Yet there is a cure for such ills, which I intend to apply should you fail to confess.'

‘No, Miss Belstone!'

‘Then confess.'

‘Oh . . . oh, very well . . . I took a slice of apple pie from the kitchen and I am truly sorry and I shall never do it again, but please, please do not chastise me; I could not bear the indignity, nor the pain.'

‘You shall have both, and in full measure. You are a liar and a thief and thus require correction. Were I not to do it, I would be failing in my duty, both to your parents and to yourself.'

‘No, Miss Belstone, please! I couldn't bear it!'

‘Nonsense, girl; you have borne it before and I have little doubt you shall bear it again, both from myself and, when you marry, from your husband, should he deem it necessary.'

‘Please!'

‘Remember, Penelope, spare the rod and spoil the child. It is just and necessary and for your own good. Now come across my knee and it will all be over in a trice.'

‘No, Miss Belstone, I cannot bear it! For I know you will shame me and lay bare my most intimate part . . .'

‘Certainly I shall. Is there any reason why I should not?'

‘Yes, indeed. I am a young lady. Such conduct would be quite improper!'

‘Your modesty? A young lady? You have been a naughty girl and, until you are corrected, you have forfeited the right to modesty. As for being a young lady, young ladies do not steal; neither do they lie. Besides, I alone will see, which is no cause for shame, save that which you should rightly feel for your behaviour. Now will you do as you are told?'

‘No, Miss Belstone, I really cannot bear a spanking . . .'

She grabbed me and there was a brief struggle, which I lost, in no time she had me across her knee, with my arm twisted up hard into the small of my back. All my please, all my kicks and struggles, had gone for nothing, I was bum up and about to be punished. I felt a sharp pang of humiliation as she began to lift my skirts: first my pretty yellow dress, then my petticoats, one by one, until only my combinations covered my seat, and those were stretched taut across the bulging cheeks of my bottom. I began to shiver as she started on the buttons that were all that separated me from the final disgrace of having my precious bottom exposed. Each popped open under her fingers, exposing a little more flesh. I could feel the flap falling aside as my bum-cheeks came on show, but she kept the top one done up, sparing me the indignity of the exposure of the centre of my bottom. Or so I thought but, when she had finished with the others, she calmly undid it, allowing the flap to fall away and bare my poor bottom completely.

I was in disgrace, held tight over her lap with my bum showing, naked and vulnerable to the punishment that was about to be inflicted on me. She raised a knee, lifting my poor bottom so that my cheeks opened. The shame was unbearable, as I knew my sex would be showing in every detail of pink fleshy folds and hairy lips, as well as the centre of my bottom, the wrinkled pinkish-brown hole of my anus. I thought nothing could be worse, and then she started to spank me.

Her blood was up and she was merciless, her cruel hand smacking down hard across my poor, naked bottom. I squeaked from the first slap and was quickly kicking and wriggling over her lap without the slightest thought for my dignity. I knew I would look a truly wretched sight, with my skirts up, my combinations open and my naked bottom dancing to her smacks. It stung crazily, and I was squealing and begging for her to stop, only for her to redouble the force of her blows. When she had finished with my bottom, she turned her attention to my thighs, slapping each and then finishing with a blistering set right across the fattest part of my rear end. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and I was left snivelling and sobbing over her lap, limp and beaten, feeling genuinely contrite.

‘You may rise,' she said in a voice that was unyieldingly stern yet sympathetic.

I got up, rather awkwardly, and let my skirts fall over my bottom, which was throbbing with pain and undoubtedly red all over.

‘Had you been honest in the first instance,' she said, looking me directly in the eye, ‘that would have sufficed.'

I hung my head, unable to meet her gaze.

‘As it is,' she continued, ‘I feel obliged to take sterner measures, and this time I strongly recommend accepting your just desserts with an attitude of proper penitence.'

‘Yes, Miss Belstone,' I said feebly.

‘However,' she went on, ‘it would not do to have you disgrace yourself during punishment. Take the chamber pot from under the bed and use it as you need.'

‘In front of you, Miss Belstone?'

‘Certainly; I wish to see that you have done what is necessary.'

‘Yes, Miss Belstone,' I answered and got to my knees to look under the bed.

The chamber pot was the last thing she had brought down from the attic, and which she had concealed from me. It was under the bed, a big china vessel sturdy enough to be sat on. I pulled it out and set it on the floor in front of her, then lifted my skirts. It was quite difficult to get access to my pussy without risking wetting my clothes, but I managed by pulling the flap of my combinations through my legs and holding it up while I squatted over the chamber pot. The position was incredibly rude, leaving my pussy gaping wide in front of her and my sore bottom sticking out as if I was expecting something up it.

She watched me fill the pot with an expression of haughty disgust, then passed me a tissue. I dabbed at my pussy gently, dropping the tissue below me and then rising. The chamber pot was nearly half full of pale gold pee, and I pushed it under the bed, my mind full of shame, humiliation, thoughts of my spanking and the emotions that came from those feelings.

‘Touch your toes,' she ordered brusquely.

I obeyed, and once more had to suffer the indignity of having my skirts lifted and my bottom laid bare. She then swept out of the room, leaving me in that thoroughly undignified position while I pondered the next phase of my punishment. It was obvious that she was going to beat me, and I had little doubt what she'd do it with, either. I was proved right moments later as she came back into the room holding a deep brown cane made of dragon grass, the heaviest and hardest of any cane type except malacca.

She went behind me, so that all I could see was my upturned skirts and the lace trim of my petticoats. It's bad enough being caned anyway, but not being able to see the person who's doing the punishment makes it a lot worse. All I could do was stay still, trembling in anticipation of my beating.

‘I feel that twelve strokes will serve to do justice,' she remarked coldly, ‘and that another twelve in addition should be sufficient to remind you of your manners.'

I winced, knowing that twenty-four strokes would leave my already sore bottom a burning ball of pain, with twenty-four sets of tramlines criss-crossing my skin. I was shivering as she took hold of my skirts and pushed my back down to force me to open my bottom. I braced myself, only to have the first stroke whistle through the air just inches from my quivering flesh. I bucked involuntarily, my heart leaping at the expected stroke. She gave a small, amused sound and then brought the cane down hard across my naked bottom without the slightest warning.

Not surprisingly I jumped and yelled, only to be told not to be a baby. I could feel tears of humiliation starting in my eyes as she pressed down on the small of my back again, forcing me to stick my bum out for the next stroke. It came, planting a line of fire across my unfortunate buttocks and making me squeal again.

‘And what do you say?' she demanded.

‘Thank you, Miss Belstone,' I gasped.

‘And how many strokes was that?' she added.

‘Two, Miss Belstone.'

She made me count out every stroke, one by one, which I managed although my whole body was shaking with reaction, and my eyes were nearly blind with tears. Then I had to thank her for punishing me, an additional humiliation. For this I had to kneel and kiss the cane that had just been used to thrash me. My bottom was burning and my breath was coming in little gasps as I put my lips to the hard rod. Obliging a punished girl to kiss the implement that had been used on her bottom is an exquisite ritual, and is usually the final torment before playmates revert to more conventional sex.

I thought that she was going to break role, or at least partially, putting my head under her skirts and opening her drawers so that I could lick her to orgasm while I knelt with my burning bottom pushed out behind me. I hung my head, waiting for her orders. Instead she stood still, flexing the wicked cane thoughtfully.

‘I wonder,' she said pensively. ‘I wonder whether you have truly learnt your lesson.'

‘I have, Miss Belstone,' I replied. ‘I will never be naughty again, truly. I . . .'

‘Speak when you are spoken to,' she snapped.

I shut up, waiting meekly for whatever she had in mind.

‘No,' she continued, ‘I do not feel that you have entirely learnt your lesson. This is hardly the first time I have been forced to spank you, nor yet to apply the cane. Come here, you little brat, and I shall truly teach you respect.'

She leant down and took me by the hair through my mob cap, gripping hard. I squeaked in alarm, wondering what she was going to do to me; then, as she sank to her knees, I realised her intentions.

‘Miss Belstone!' I protested.

‘Do not think to call out,' she told me, drawing out the full chamber pot from under the bed. ‘For we are alone. Likewise, do not think to run and tell tales, for everyone knows you are a liar and it is I who shall be believed.'