6 of the Best Discipline at Work Stories (10 page)

Through the crying and sniffling I manage to express the view that it is
abundantly clear and that I wouldn't dream of moving again.  I can't
imagine that I'd dare.  The pressure on my back disappears and I'm no
longer pressed so uncomfortably hard against the rough bark.  That
serves only to help my attention focus all the more on the scorching in
the backs of my thighs.  I can hear him walking away again towards the
car but it never enters my head to glance around.  Oh why did I ever get
myself into this?

Minutes of misery pass by.  He should be back at the car by now
–
unless
he was just standing, watching.  Thinking about it, he must have been
back there the last time, because when he'd come back he hadn't got my
skirt and shoes so he must have left them in the car.

Gradually the shock of the slapping recedes and my natural curiosity
causes me to start trying to see as far back towards the path as I can
without moving my head.  No sign of him so, although I'm terrified he's
going to suddenly appear again I do turn slightly - being careful to
keep my hands on my head and ready to turn back at the slightest
movement from the path.  Safe for the moment
so
far as I can tell.
I risk a quick glance down at the back of my legs.  I can see all too
plainly the bright crimson blotches on the back of my thighs.  I move my
right leg slightly and I can see very clearly the unmistakable red
finger marks on my lower leg.  A more considered look at my sore thighs
- I can make out a few distinct finger shaped patches around the edges
of the target area but generally it looks less obviously like a smacking
- not that that's much consolation.  The mottled, glowing, crimson area
extends from a couple of inches above my knees right up to the line of
my pants.

Was that a footstep I heard?  I'm back in position in an instant
–
the
pose frozen. 
Aware of an ache in my arms now from having held them on
top of my head for so long but unable to do anything about it.

I hear his footsteps coming up behind me and then they stop - I wish
he'd speak but he remains silent for what seems like several minutes.
Must be surveying the imprints of his previous handiwork on my bare legs
or maybe ogling at my thinly covered buttocks as he plans what he will
be doing to them in just a short while.

"Very good - I see you're learning something about obeying rules at
last."  I make no reply.  "You can put your hands down now and turn
around."  I gratefully drop my arms to my sides and turn slowly.  He's
standing there with a trace of a smile on his face but it's his hands
I'm looking at - more accurately I'm looking at the long thin bamboo
cane he's holding.  It must be a full metre long and very thin and
flexible towards the one end.  Well, it's too late for second thoughts
now.  Something he said before comes back to me - "Think about your
crime and the court appearance I'm saving you from." - I must keep that
in mind now - I hope I've chosen the right alternative.

"Over here" he motions with his hand and I follow him across to the
other side of the clearing.  Any other time I'd be unhappy about the
discomfort of walking on this slightly damp and twig covered ground in
only my socks but I'm hardly aware of it even.  He stops by an old broad
tree trunk that's fallen many years ago.

"You'll bend across that
Kara
- I want your toes on the ground this
side, your hands on the ground the other, and your bottom high in the
air.  Is that clear?"  I can only manage a nod. 

"Right, before you get
ready, I'll remind you again that this is going to hurt because you
deserve it to hurt.
  You'll have heard stories of schoolboys getting
'six of the best' in the past.  Well you're nineteen years old, you've
not just been naughty,
you've
broken the law, so you can't expect to get
off as lightly as that.  Twelve strokes should serve to teach you a
lesson you'll remember next time you feel tempted, and I advise you to
keep as still as possible if you don't want any extras.  You will get up
only when I tell you that you can, and you will then thank me and tell
me that you'll be a good girl now.  Now get into position ready."

I'm too shocked to move for a second - TWELVE!  Then an inner voice
reminds me that I don't have a lot of option unless I want the police
brought in.  Besides I know that I deserve everything I'm getting - it's
my own stupid fault and I might as well just get it over with.  Bending
over the trunk isn't physically very easy and having managed it I'm very
mindful of my
upthrust
bottom.  I can feel that my knickers have ridden
further up than they were before so that I have even less protection but
there's nothing I can do.  I can see him coming to stand at my left side
and then I feel slightly sick as he lays the cane across the highest
part of my hindquarters, presumably to get his aim.

Then the contact ceases - I close my eyes and hold my breath.  I hear
the whistle of the cane through the air and then the sharp crack of
impact.  A split second later I feel the searing pain as if my arse has
been stung by a dozen angry bees - I can't stop myself from yelling out
and jumping, and despite his injunction to keep still I would have
clutched my hands to my bottom if it had been practical but it just
isn't a physical possibility from the position I'm in.  I only just hear
the second stroke coming a moment before it lands a few millimetres
higher than the first but although it stings like hell and I yelp again,
it's not quite such a hurtful shock as the first.

Again the thin bamboo rod whistles down but this time at a slight angle
so it crosses the two previous strokes and there's absolutely no
question of that one not truly stinging.  When I've counted six I'm
blubbering
my eyes out and my backside feels like it's been roasted in a
furnace.  The seventh and eighth strokes are higher up my bottom where
there is less fleshy protection - strangely they don't seem to sting as
much but, of course, later I'm to discover that the bruising lasts a
good deal longer there. 

There's a slight pause while he readjusts his
aim - then a much lower stroke which hurts as much as the last two put
together.  It must have landed below my knickers although they were
doing little to protect more than my modesty anyway.

"Jeez...!"  I can't stop myself exclaiming at the fiery blast across my
bum.  I know I'm wriggling about and kicking my feet about more than he
wanted but I can't help myself.  Before I manage to control myself again
a further stroke lands near to the last one but further around to the
right flank because of my
moving,
and I yell out again and contort.

He does wait for me to resume the proper position before delivering the
last two.  As he did at the beginning he lays the cane gently on the
target - this time I know it's resting on bare flesh below my panties,
about an inch lower than where the last two strokes landed.  I tense
automatically.  I can feel the smooth cold cane resting on that most
tender province where buttocks become thighs - Christ, but this is going
to hurt!

The cane makes a loud "
Whoomph
!" as it descends and then lands exactly
where he intended with maximum force.  The hurt is as instant as it is
fierce.  My hands are
scrabbling
around in the dirt and both feet are
threshing the air ineffectually.  He'd chosen my position well and I
could do almost nothing about it.  He waits a few moments until my
initial animation has receded a little and then delivers the final
stroke with equal force directly on top of
it's
predecessor.  The next
few minutes are a blur of pain and distress at the ferocious stinging
torment from my devastated and ravaged bottom.

As I finally stop shouting and contorting I'm still sobbing but I manage
to keep more or less still.  Surely he's not going to give me any extra
for moving as he'd threatened?  A full minute or more passes in silence
apart from my crying.

"Stand up Kar
a
"  I
struggle to obey and turn to face him.  My hands go
to clutch my seat. 
"Hands by your side!
  Now what do you have to say?"

For a moment I'm unsure what he's getting at, then I remember the
instructions.

"Thank you Mr
Bennett
, I'm going to be a good girl from now on."  It
seems an embarrassingly silly thing to say, but then that was presumably
the intention.  He nods.

"You can rub it now if you want."  Gratefully I do try to massage away
the throbbing heat but to little effect.  He waits patiently for a few
minutes before speaking again.

"Come on
Kara
- let's go back to the car."  As we're walking he puts an
arm around my shoulder comfortingly and although I am aware again of my
state of partial undress and the potential sexual overtones of the
situation, I'm comforted rather than concerned by the contact.

When we get back to the car he opens the boot and throws the cane in -
my skirt and shoes are there but instead of picking them up he turns
back to face me.

"Let's just check the damage before we go home."  For a few seconds I
miss the point.  "Get you knickers off and let's have a check on the
injury situation."  Considering that no man has ever seen me with my
knickers off before it's strange but I obey almost without hesitation.

I suspect that, despite my planning earlier in the day, my present
obsession with obedience would have meant that if he told me to lie on
the ground in the nude with my legs
spread,
I'd have done so just as
quickly and without protest.

I peel the pants off my bum and down my legs, kicking them off with my
foot.  He runs his fingers tenderly over my bottom while I twist around
to see what I can of the w
h
eals.  His hands are gentle and soothing and
it doesn't seem at all wrong for him to be touching me in such an
intimate way.  The combination of his attention and the cool country air
on my hot skin is
pleasant.A
few minutes later he takes my skirt from the car and passes it to me.

"You'd better put that back on before you get back in the car
–
I
suggest you leave the knickers off for now.  It will feel better if you
don't wear anything very tight on your bottom for a little while."  I
have doubts about the reasoning but do as instructed before putting my

shoes
on again.  He throws my knickers in the boot on top of the cane
and slams it shut.

The journey home is largely conducted in silence.  He pulls up at his
house, about a mile and a half from where I live and switches off the
engine.

"Do you want to come in for a coffee?"  I hesitate - more rational now,

I'm concerned again about what else is involved besides coffee.

"No - I just want to go home."  He nods without showing any sign of
disappointment and gets out of the car.  I do likewise and he locks the
door.