As usual the result will be given in a few weeks time, and then the best ones will be added to the ‘Over to You Section’, in the ‘Contributors Section’.

So get your writers head on, and see what little scenario/short story you can come up with, for this photo of Charlotte and Samantha in their riding gear, outside a door…..what can they be waiting for? Who is on the inside?

I cannot wait to find out!!

Either e-mail me or add it as a comment on the bottom of this page.

Asa

First of all, I think I can honestly say that in my promise to help new writers I have always put their work up on here if good enough, and explained when and why I do not as politely as I can. I remember what it was like before being published.

However, I am so busy, that it takes me a while to get around to it. I am nearly always about four or five days in advance with my posts, I date them you see, but sometimes I am about 7 in advance, and that is when I have time to promote. So keep asking and sending them, but be patients with me.

One of my recent successes was the introduction of TradCP, he now has his own page featuring his art and stories, part three of number three has just been added, click here…

…https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=42480

…oooOOOooo…

Today’s Two Newcomers…

Story One ~ Part One ~ From Robbie, inspired by one of my posts.

LUCY

Lucy had been the spanking pet of Samantha, Charlotte, and Kate for nearly a year. She had become fond of them, and they of her, but she had needed frequent discipline, many spankings, and quite a few canings. She had accepted that spankings needed to be on her bare bottom, but was a little dismayed when the same applied to the cane. Now, however, she had come to accept that too, and presented herself willingly for any form of corporal punishment naked from the waist down. Even so, she yelped during  the first few strokes of the cane, especially when administered by Samantha. 

With her first anniversary approaching, the three women pondered on ways to mark the occasion. Talk of ‘marking’ raised titters, but Samantha soon brought them to order.  “Seriously, there is a rite of passage we need to put Lucy through before we can free her, and this anniversary is as good a time as any.”

The three women exchanged glances. “The bench?” asked Charlotte, raising her eyebrows. The bench was a relic of the Victorian past of their building, when it was a sanctuary for fallen women and unmarried mothers and discipline was enforced with the birch. It was a fine piece of furniture but had lain disused for decades, until rediscovered by the school.

Kate, with whom Lucy had an especially strong relationship, was detailed to speak to her about their intentions. Several times in the past Lucy had asked about birching, with an interest that led them to wonder whether Lucy was expecting – in fact hoping – to experience it. Kate now took her aside and whispered in her ear “Now we are coming up to your anniversary there is something we want to show you. Come with me.”

Kate took Lucy’s hand and led her to a room she hadn’t been in before. Samantha and Charlotte were waiting there. In the middle of the floor was the bench that Lucy had heard about.

Samantha took the leash which had Lucy on the end of it. “It’s time, Lucy. I think you are ready for this.” 

Lucy’s eyes shone with excitement. “How do you want me, Kate?”

“Lying face down, naked, with your bottom raised. Once you are in position, I will ask you if you are ready and then you will be birched by each of us in turn, while the other two hold you down. We will give you a hundred strokes.”

Charlotte looked sternly at Lucy. “You know, don’t you Lucy, that once we start, we will finish. There’ll be no reprieve.”

Lucy nodded; but her lip quivered. She lay on the bench and Samantha raised the middle section supporting her bottom. Charlotte took hold of her feet and Kate held her hands. Samantha took the birch and laid it directly on Lucy’s unprotected bottom, which quivered in anticipation. Lucy said she was ready, and pushed up further to prove the point.

For the first few strokes there was little reaction from Lucy. Then, as Samantha’s strokes gathered pace, she began to fidget and wriggle and to whimper audibly. By five or six minutes she was in tears. Skilfully administered, that is how the birch works, with a gradual and then very rapid acceleration of pain. There was no question of relaxing the punishment.

When Charlotte and Kate took their turns, the pain intensified to a shattering climax that left Lucy sobbing.

After a period alone in the corner Lucy wept in Kate’s arms. Kate hugged her and rubbed soothing cream into the crimson spray of her birched bottom. The three agreed: Lucy had earned her freedom. But did she want it?

Asa’s note….very good. A nice short story with a hint of more to come.

…oooOOOooo…

Story Two ~ From Paul ~ Chapters 1-3

Paul included three pictures, but I found his writing so descriptive, that at this moment in time, it does not need any. If he promises to finish it, I might alter the descriptions to suit my girls and illustrate it.

Chapter 1: The Late Arrival

Yorkshire’s misty veil enveloped the quaint village as the morning sun peeked through the clouds. Within the walls of Yorkshire High School, corridors echoed with the chatter of students rushing to their classes. Among them was Emily, a mischievous high school senior notorious for her pranks and irreverent behavior.

Dressed in her crisp green blazer, grey skirt, and neatly tied white shirt with a green necktie, Emily sauntered through the corridors with an air of nonchalance. Her Mary Jane shoes clicked against the tiled floor as she made her way to her first class of the day: History.

Meanwhile, in the history classroom, Miss Harper, the stern yet elegant history teacher, stood by the chalkboard, her black blazer perfectly tailored, her heels clicking with authority as she paced back and forth.

As the bell chimed, signaling the start of class, Emily burst through the door, breathless and disheveled. “Sorry, Miss Harper, got held up!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with false sincerity.

Miss Harper raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Emily, punctuality is a virtue. Your excuses are wearing thin.”

Emily flashed a charming smile, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, but Miss Harper, you know I wouldn’t miss your captivating lectures for the world.”

Miss Harper’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Enough. Take your seat, Emily.”

With a careless shrug, Emily sauntered to her desk, ignoring the disapproving glances of her classmates. She pulled out her sketchbook, pretending to be engrossed in her drawings as Miss Harper began her lesson.

But Emily’s attention wandered, her mind drifting into the realm of her imagination. With deft strokes of her pencil, she sketched a caricature of Miss Harper, exaggerating her features into a comical likeness.

Unbeknownst to Emily, Miss Harper observed her antics with growing irritation. With a swift stride, she approached Emily’s desk, her heels clicking ominously against the floor.

“Emily,” Miss Harper said sharply, her voice cutting through the classroom chatter.

Startled, Emily looked up, her eyes widening in feigned innocence. “Yes, Miss Harper?”

Miss Harper’s gaze was steely. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Emily’s heart skipped a beat, but she quickly recovered, flashing a charming grin. “Just doodling, Miss. It helps me concentrate.”Miss Harper angered by the sketch

tightened her lips into a thin line. “Concentrate on this,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

With lightning speed, Miss Harper reached for Emily’s necktie, her fingers curling around the fabric with a firm grip. She pulled Emily to her feet, her eyes flashing with determination.

Emily’s protest died on her lips as Miss Harper led her to the front of the class, her grip on Emily’s necktie unwavering. With a swift motion, Miss Harper seated herself on a chair and effortlessly pulled Emily over her lap, her grip on the necktie ensuring Emily’s compliance.

“Miss Harper, what are you doing?” Emily exclaimed, squirming in discomfort.

Miss Harper’s voice was calm but firm. “Teaching you a lesson, Emily.”

With that, Miss Harper delivered a series of sharp spanks to Emily’s backside, each one punctuated by a resounding crack. Emily’s protests turned into gasps of surprise and discomfort as the sting of Miss Harper’s hand seared through her senses.

As the last spank landed, Emily’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Miss Harper released her grip on Emily’s necktie, allowing her to scramble back to her seat, her eyes downcast in shame.

Silence descended upon the classroom as Miss Harper resumed her lesson, her voice steady and unwavering. And as Emily sat there, nursing her bruised pride, she couldn’t help but feel a strange fluttering in her chest—an unfamiliar sensation that lingered long after the sting of Miss Harper’s discipline had faded.

Chapter 2: Confessions and Consequences

The school grounds of Yorkshire High were a sanctuary of sprawling greenery, where ancient trees whispered secrets to the wind and the scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air. It was here, amidst the tranquility of nature, that Emily sought solace from the chaos of her thoughts.

After the final bell of the day had rung, signaling the end of science class, Emily slipped away from the bustling corridors and made her way to the secluded grove of trees at the edge of the school grounds. With practiced ease, she sank onto the dew-kissed grass, the weight of her thoughts heavy upon her.

Fingers trembling slightly, Emily withdrew a pack of cigarettes from the depths of her blazer pocket, the crinkle of the cellophane echoing in the silence. With a flick of her lighter, she ignited the tip of the cigarette, the flame casting an eerie glow upon her features as she inhaled deeply, letting the smoke swirl around her like a veil of secrets.

Lost in the haze of her thoughts, Emily’s mind wandered back to the events of the previous day—the sharp sting of Miss Harper’s discipline, the fluttering in her chest at the touch of her teacher’s hand. Despite herself, Emily couldn’t shake the strange allure she felt towards Miss Harper—a forbidden temptation that danced on the edges of her consciousness.

But her reverie was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps, the rhythm echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the afternoon. With a start, Emily scrambled to her feet, the cigarette dangling from her fingertips like a damning confession.

And there, amidst the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, stood Miss Harper, her expression a mixture of disappointment and concern as her gaze fell upon Emily.

“Emily,” Miss Harper’s voice was stern, but there was a softness beneath the surface, a vulnerability that sent a shiver down Emily’s spine.

Caught red-handed, Emily hastily concealed the cigarette behind her back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she stammered out excuses.

But Miss Harper was not so easily fooled. With a firm grip, she seized Emily’s arm and retrieved the cigarette, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through Emily’s veins.

And then, with a sense of inevitability, Miss Harper unearthed the packet of cigarettes from Emily’s blazer pocket, along with the lighter—a damning testament to Emily’s transgressions.

Desperation clawed at Emily’s throat as she pleaded with her teacher, her words tumbling out in a rush of honesty and vulnerability.

But Miss Harper’s resolve remained unyielding. With a heavy heart, she led Emily to a nearby tree, her expression pained as she raised Emily’s skirt and delivered a series of sharp strokes with the cane—a punishment as swift and merciless as it was necessary.

And as Emily stood there, her hands clutching the rough bark of the tree, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude towards her teacher—a gratitude born not of fear, but of a deeper understanding of the complexities that bound them together.

With the punishment administered, Miss Harper’s gaze softened, her voice gentle as she reminded Emily of the importance of honesty and communication.

And together, side by side, they made their way back to the classroom—a silent understanding passing between them, a fragile bridge built upon the foundations of trust and acceptance.

Chapter 3: Embracing Desire

The mundane rhythm of the school day had flowed as usual, with Emily showcasing her academic prowess in the history lesson. After the last bell had tolled and the corridors emptied, leaving Emily and Miss Harper alone in the quiet classroom, the tension that had simmered between them finally reached its peak.

Miss Harper’s gaze lingered on Emily, a mixture of curiosity and affection shining in her eyes. “Why did you draw that portrait of me, Emily?” she inquired softly.

Emily met her teacher’s gaze with a mixture of nervousness and determination. “I wanted your attention,” she admitted, her voice trembling with honesty.

A smile graced Miss Harper’s lips, her expression one of understanding. “Well, you certainly have it,” she replied warmly. “Would you care to continue this conversation over tea at my home?”

The invitation sent a thrill through Emily’s veins, her heart pounding with anticipation as they made their way to Miss Harper’s house.

Entering the warmth of Miss Harper’s home, Emily felt a sense of intimacy envelop her—a feeling of being welcomed into a world where desires were not just acknowledged but embraced.

As they settled onto the couch, tea in hand, Emily found herself opening up to Miss Harper in ways she never thought possible—confessing her feelings and desires with a raw honesty that left her vulnerable yet empowered.

Miss Harper listened with a gentle smile, her eyes soft with understanding as Emily bared her soul before her.

But then, with a suddenness that made Emily’s heart race, Miss Harper seized her by the tie, her grip firm but gentle—a silent declaration of the power dynamics that governed their relationship.

“If you want this relationship, Emily,” Miss Harper murmured, her voice laced with desire, “it will be on my terms.”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat at the challenge, her desire for Miss Harper burning hotter than ever. With a nod, she silently agreed to the unspoken pact between them.

With a playful smile, Miss Harper rose from the couch, taking Emily’s hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.

And with that, she yanked Emily from the couch by her tie, leading her through the corridors of her home with a firm grip on her necktie.

As they entered the lavishly decorated room, Emily’s pulse quickened with excitement at the possibilities that lay before them—a world of pleasure and exploration waiting to be discovered.

With a knowing smile, Miss Harper turned to Emily, her eyes alight with desire. “Welcome to our new beginning,” she said, her voice filled with promise.

And as Emily gazed around the room, her heart racing with anticipation.It was filled with fetish equipment and different racks and bondage items.

Chapter 4: Desires Are Always Naked

So…both deserved to be published on my blog, well done to you.

Please respond with comments if you can, try to be encouraging, writing is rewarding and requires a lot of imagination and work.

Asa

The next part of the lovely spanking story by ‘B’

To see the rest of her work, click on ‘Links and Contributors’ in the menu bar above, then click on ‘Contributors’ and scroll down to her page.

…oooOOOooo…

Victoriana part 7

As we drove back to the French Crimson School castle, Josy teased, “That was a big slurppy kiss that boy gave you !”

Agathe added, “And he had one hand under your skirt!”

I laughed, “And the boy who had called you a sassy brunette had both hands under your skirt!”

After dinner, we watched a documentary about Marie-Antoinette. One of the French girls said, “The king was taken to the scaffold in a closed carriage, and she was taken in a cart. Those sans-culottes sure weren’t feminists.”

Next morning, Mesdames Olivia and Yvonne took turns scolding us. “You were naughty girls, all of you at the Versailles castle, you will have a blackboard spelling test!”

The French girls pulled long faces. We questioned them and weren’t offered more than ‘you’ll know soon enough!’

Morning exercises and breakfast were followed by that blackboard spelling bee tests. I was one of the first to be called in front of the class.

Monsieur Maurice, with his super French accent, gave me my first word, dépencière. I wrote it on the blackboard with an S instead of a C. He had me raise my skirt and lower my knickers. I now had a very good idea of what would happen for my next mistakes.

Narcissique was my next word, and I wrote it with 3 S. I got 6 vigorous hand smacks. Hédoniste followed and I’ll never know why I spelled it with an A instead of an O. I was given another 6 more smacks, and would for sure remember how to spell it. For sourcilleux I missed the R and the double L, 12 sharp smacks were added.

The test was over. My bum was glowing. “A pitiful result! Raise and hold your skirt front and back for the martinet.”

I got the usual 12 strokes, but 2 of the strokes to the front of my thighs had to be repeated because I dropped my skirt while doing a brat dance.

Then it was the turn of the French girls. Marie was the last one.

Monsieur Armstrong, with his super English accent, gave her first word, spendthrift. She wrote it on the blackboard without the T and her skirt was raised and her knickers lowered.

Narcissistic was her next word, and she got 6 more smacks for having written it the French way with que final instead of C. For supercilious, I whispered O when I saw that she had missed it.

“Alicia! That’s cheating and cheaters are caned. Come to the front of the class. Raise your skirt, take down your knickers, and bend over that desk.”

Yikes! The cane! I had never received a caning. I was again bare butt in front of the whole classroom, and I was scared.

“Six of the best!”

I saw that it was a thin and light cane. I guessed that’s why the French girls call it a junior cane. That didn’t reassure me. Mr strong-arm had it whistling through the air. I shuddered.

The first stroke took my breath away. I exhaled with an “ARGH!”

It was the fiercest sting I had ever felt!

The second stroke was below the first one. I had another loud “ARGHH!”

I stomped my feet, feeling that my bottom was laddered, but I knew that it wasn’t for having seen Agathe’s bum after her caning.

The third stroke was, of course, below the first two. I blew a louder “ARGHHH!”

Stomping my feet, wriggling my derriere, didn’t help, and my eyes watered.

With the fourth strokes, my bum no longer made the difference with the previous three. “ARGHHHH!”

After number five and six, I was a well chastised girl. When told to stand, my hands flew to rub my blazing bottom.

“Roll up your skirt, before standing in that corner with your hands atop your head!” With teary eyes, I shamefully exposed my well chastised derriere to the whole class. I was thankful that they didn’t giggle.

Alicia

To be continued…

./…

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