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Victoria's Vice

Nervous, naughty girl has been summoned to the study. What has she done? What will happen to her?
Victoria Jenkins stood nervously in the hallway outside the door of the study, unconsciously tracing arabesques on the carpet with the tip of her right shoe. Above her head a large, white-faced clock relentlessly ticked away the few minutes remaining before her latest uncomfortable appointment.

It was not an unfamiliar situation for her. Pacing up and down the hallway as silently as she could, painful memories flashed through her mind; of her previous encounters in the same room; of all that had happened within its walls; of how very uncomfortable she had felt as she had departed less than an hour later.

After one particularly vivid and painful memory, she carefully checked her appearance in the full length mirror on the wall opposite for the umpteenth time, glancing guiltily at the camera in the corner of the corridor. He was a stickler for all rules, she knew that too well; especially those involving uniform, and expected her to pay particular attention whenever she was summoned to the study.

Vicky knew he would be particularly strict today and if she had in any way transgressed the Uniform Code, there would be immediate and painful consequences for her. Starting from her feet, she quickly compared every item of her clothing with the list of alternatives he would find acceptable.

Shiny black court shoes - less than one inch of heel. Check.

White knee socks - clean, pulled up straight and to the same height. Hmm some adjustment needed. Check.

Regulation kilt - pleats ironed smooth, no more than six inches above the knee. Check.

White cotton shirt or blouse - neatly pressed, tucked all round into the kilt. Check.

Tie - red and black stripes, without food stains, tied neatly. Check.

Make-up - none allowed. Check.

Her long dark hair - pulled back into pony tail and secured with bobble. Check. 

Oops! She had nearly forgotten to check underneath. 

Bra – regulation white. Unattractive and uncomfortable. Check.

Panties – regulation white and big! Check.

Satisfied that she would pass at least the first, most obvious test, Vicky fidgeted, hopping from one foot to the other as the clock’s big hand moved closer and closer to her appointed time of two-thirty.

Tick. Tick.

With each passing second her tummy bubbled with butterflies as she tried to picture what was to come. She had stood outside the study so many times and for so many offences she couldn’t count them all, but the common, unmistakeable theme was clear; when she left the room later that afternoon, she would be humiliated and in pain.

Tick. Tick.

So why did she keep on transgressing? Why did she repeatedly commit offences that she knew would result in a summons to the study and its invariably painful consequences? Did she secretly desire humiliation at his hands? What was it about him that made her come back time and again?

Tick. Tick.

One minute to go. She checked her reflection one last time. Oh God! Her nipples were hard and clearly visible through the thin material of her cheap bra and shirt. Please God, may he not notice!

Tick. Tick.

There were only seconds now before it would all begin. Would he be angry? Would it really hurt this time? How would she explain herself to everyone afterwards? She glanced again at the camera; had he been watching her on the video all this time, enjoying her nervousness?

Bing-bong-bing-bong. Bing-bong-bing-bong .

The clock chimed the half hour. Must be prompt! Mustn’t be even a minute late!

Vicky took a deep breath, pulled her shirt away from her erect nipples to try and conceal their arousal and knocked twice, firmly on the hardwood door. There was a familiar pause; he always made her wait, was that just to make her even more nervous.


The voice was deep and commanding. Vicky took the brass door knob in her hand, turned it shakily and entered the study.

For a room in which punishments routinely took place, the study was at first glance surprisingly unintimidating. The walls were a bright friendly yellow-white with colourful modern prints hung symmetrically around them. The woodwork was painted white, the ceiling was high and sunlight streamed through the large, clean windows and onto the polished wooden floor.

The furniture was modern too, with a large pale oak desk facing the doorway and various sizes of cupboards and cabinets around the walls. Three dark, state-of-the-art video cameras stood on tripods as if their probing lenses were surveying the room and its contents but apart from that it could have been the office of a modern, busy business executive rather than a place of chastisement.

And yet that was exactly what Vicky expected as she tentatively crossed the floor to stand before the desk on the large rectangular piece of dark-coloured carpet that lay there. Vicky knew this carpet well; it was known as the 'spanking rug’; dark in reputation and in colour, brought out of storage when punishments were required and used in case any messy accidents should occur during their administration.

Accidents were not unknown during a punishment and as she nervously took her place, Vicky remembered one such occasion when her punishment had proved too much for her self-control and she had disgraced herself in front of him, to her severe humiliation.

Her knees trembling, she stood silently in front of the desk behind which he sat, his head bent over a pile of documents, his computer screen glowing blue alongside. Her shoulders slumped and her toes pointed awkwardly inwards, waiting for the man responsible for her future discomfort to address her.

He wrote neatly with his left hand, the paper skewed sideways before him. There was a dark birthmark on the base of his thumb, about the size of a fifty-pence coin; Vicky had seen this mark many times in many circumstances but none more ominously than today. She tried anxiously to read the paper upside down on his desk but failed.

“Miss Jenkins. On time for once, I’m pleased to see,” he finally addressed her without looking up. “A welcome improvement on your usual tardiness!”

“Sir!” She responded as if unsure whether to say yes or no and not wanting to make a mistake.

He looked up at her, his eyes surprisingly warm, his dark hair still thick on top of his head. Despite her predicament Vicky couldn’t help feeling strongly attracted to this man, the difference in their ages smaller than might have been expected. For a second, he gazed at her, his eyes sparking and with a mischievous expression on his face, then he shrugged, leaned over and opened the bottom left hand drawer of his desk, removing a heavy ledger-style book which Vicky recognised only too well. He laid it on the desk in front of him.

“Miss Jenkins, after our last appointment I had hoped that you and I would be seeing rather less of each other in circumstances such as these. I have never believed that any person is beyond hope, but sadly it appears that in your case the leopard cannot change its spots and we are destined to continue our somewhat painful relationship.”

Vicky looked down at the carpet in what she hoped was a convincing gesture of remorse.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir,” she mumbled apologetically.

“These are the rules with which everyone living under this roof must comply,” he said, tapping the book with his index finger. “You agreed specifically to comply with these when you arrived but you do not appear to understand what compliance means, young lady.”

“Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir!” Vicky’s nerves were getting the better of her.

“So once again I must ask you to bring me the punishment book,” he ordered, nodding to the corner cupboard behind her.

The routine was familiar, but made the anticipation all the more nerve-wracking. She turned and crossed to the largest cupboard, bent over and turned the key in the lock. Her bottom was directed towards him, her kilt riding up slightly giving him and the cameras a glimpse of her regulation white panties. The well-oiled door swung open and she took out the large hard-covered book that lay on the top shelf, noticing with concern the rack of canes, slippers and straps that hung from hooks in the space below. Standing up shakily, she turned and returned to the desk with the ledger, placing it nervously before him. He barely looked at her.

“Thank you, Miss Jenkins. Now stand up straight on the carpet while we go through the formalities.”

Vicky stood almost to attention as he flicked through the pages of the book, some almost blank, others covered in dense writing until he came to a double spread on which there was a rather large amount of neat, hand printed black ink.

“Your record for this year, Miss Jenkins.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Not an enviable record, girl, and one to which I must now add yet more entries.”

“Yes Sir.” Vicky’s mind flicked back over all the previous times she had stood in that office and how each encounter had started in a similar way.

“But this time the offences are rather more serious than on previous occasions, are they not?”

“Yes Sir,” she replied, a little puzzled but knowing better than argue or do anything which might enrage him at this critical stage of the interview. Instead she watched as he wrote the date and time in the columns of the book in his neat, left-handed print, then raised his head and looked her straight in the eye before picking up several familiar slips of paper from his in-tray.

“I have no less than four separate complaint slips on my desk for four separate offences on four separate occasions. Congratulations Miss Jenkins. You have established a new record.”

Vicky squirmed in her shoes and wriggled her hips anxiously as she contemplated what the consequences of a full four offences might be. She had expected to be confronted with two complaints but had no idea what her third and fourth offences might be.

“Let’s take them in turn, shall we?” he said sternly, bringing her back from her reverie and placing the first slip face up before her. “Would you care to read the contents aloud?”

Vicky made a show of bending over to read but she already knew the contents of the first slip.

“Slovenly behaviour Sir,” she read quietly. “Failing to make the beds properly or tidy the rooms for which I am responsible,” she saw him raise an eyebrow, “three days in a row,” she quickly added.

“And…” he prompted.

“And this is the third occasion this year I have been before you for this offence.”

“That’s right, girl,” he said coolly before placing a second slip in front of her. “Now read this please.”

Vicky bent over again and read the clear, neat handwriting.

“Dressing immodestly, Sir. For the second time this term,” she said quickly, hoping to avoid further wrath.

“This was the New Year party was it not?” he asked. Vicky nodded. “Speak up, girl!” he raised his voice angrily.

“Yes, Sir!” she replied quickly.

“And the specific attire?” he prompted. Vicky bent over and read the slip carefully.

“Wearing an inappropriately short dress which clearly showed her... my… panties....”

“Go on, girl!”

“The... the panties themselves being of a thong style specifically prohibited in public. Also attending a public function unsupported... Sir.”


“Meaning without a bra, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he muttered.

Vicky began to feel nervous. Although she had faced punishment many times before, her offences had never sounded as grave as they did now, and there had never been so many of them at one time.

A third slip of paper was passed over towards her. This time she read it carefully, unsure what it might contain.

“Rude and impolite behaviour,” she read aloud.

“A complaint made by me personally after the extraordinary gesture you made towards my back as I left the kitchen on Friday evening,” Vicky’s mouth fell open in amazement. Did the man have eyes in the back of his head? As if reading her mind, he continued, “You forget that the side of the refrigerator is highly polished and makes a very effective mirror, girl!”

“But Sir…” Vicky began then checked herself. There would be no flexibility here. Best keep silent.

“And finally…” he slid the fourth slip over to her. Vicky bent over again to see the complaint. Her eyebrows flew upwards in surprise.

“Read it, girl!” he ordered.

“But Sir, you asked …”

“Read it!” he cut across her protests.

“Flagrant and brazenly inappropriate behaviour during a public event,” she read slowly, her voice trembling. “Please Sir. When was this, Sir?” she asked anxiously.

“The New Year party once again, girl. Read the details!”

“Flirting excessively with at least two male guests including inappropriate physical contact with at least one such guest in the cloakroom following the Midnight Chimes.”

She fell silent.

“You didn’t think you had been observed, did you?” Vicky was dumbstruck. “DID YOU?” He thundered.

“No, Sir!” she stammered, “I’m so sorry Sir! I’m so sorry…”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Jenkins. Now stand quietly while I enter these offences in the ledger.”

Vicky’s tummy rumbled and groaned as she watched him painstakingly write each of the four offences on a separate line in the Punishment Book. Her knees trembled, bravado weakening fast as she contemplated the extent of her offences and the punishment that must inevitably follow.

When he had finished writing, he turned the book towards her.

“I must now formally ask you whether you accept that you did commit these offences and whether you accept the standard punishment as prescribed in the rules.”

Vicky’s voice nearly failed her.

“The alternative is that you must leave this house immediately,” he added. “I assume you wouldn’t want that, Miss Jenkins.”

“No Sir,” Vicky said quickly, “I… I accept the punishment!”

There! She’d said it. Now at least it would soon all be over, but please make it soon!

“That’s a sensible girl,” he said slightly less sternly. “Now sign against the four entries please, to indicate you have chosen to be punished here rather than excluded.”

Vicky bent over the desk and, with a shaky hand, wrote her name untidily against each line in the book. Then she stood back, her knees trembling, her bladder suddenly painfully full, and waited while he flicked through the large book of rules. Every so often he would pause and write something down on a slip of paper, occasionally cross something out, then make changes to others before finally doing something that looked like adding up a column of figures.

“I’m afraid, Miss Jenkins that this is by some distance the harshest punishment I have ever been required to deliver to a young lady. The gravity of your offences and your multiple appearances in my office in the past have all multiplied the prescribed punishment to a level which I fear might cause significant and permanent damage to your body if it were to be administered in full.”

Now Vicky was really scared. Her belly fluttered wildly, her knees knocked together and she thought she felt a tiny trickle of pee run down the inside of her thigh.

“Sir! Please…” she began to beg but he spoke over her attempted protest.

“So for my own peace of mind I will see whether there is any flexibility in the rules – which by the way I am obliged to follow and which you have just agreed to submit to.”

He returned to the book and, over the course of a couple of minutes, made a few amendments to his hand-written list.

“The grand total for your offences is the equivalent of forty strokes of the cane.” Vicky felt faint. The most she had endured so far had been six and that had left her unable to sit down for three days. Her cheeks had been striped for nearly two weeks afterwards. She whimpered.

“However, I can offer you a choice,” he held the paper in his hand as if reading from a book. “If you were to choose to be caned on your bare bottom instead of panty-clad then this could be reduced by half to twenty strokes.”

Vicky’s head span. She had only been spanked on her bare bottom twice before and knew how much it hurt. But then surely another twenty strokes would hurt much more, even with her panties still on?

“Sir, I’ll accept whatever you think is best for me. Thank you Sir,” she stammered, hoping he wouldn’t find her words too sycophantic.

He looked at her suspiciously as if suspecting her of insubordination, then resumed his professional air.

“Very well Miss Jenkins. Please bring me the longer cane and we will begin.”

As Vicky went back to the cupboard, he crossed to the corner of the room and fiddled with the buttons on the nearest video camera. She returned with a long, slender pale brown cane with a traditional hook at the end.

She handed it to him silently, her eyes lowered.

“Thank you. Now would you please remove your skirt?”

Vicky’s fingers trembled as she fumbled with the two leather straps and buckles that held her kilt tightly around her slender waist. Eventually the first, then the second clasp was released and the end of the material was freed. She carefully unwound the skirt from around her waist and folded it neatly.

“You can put it on the bench, Miss Jenkins.” He said surprisingly softly. Vicky placed the folded cloth on a low wooden bench which stood against the wall. She recognised the bench; in previous years it had featured in more than one of her ‘encounters’ in the study, lying face down with her bottom exposed.

As he spoke, he removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Vicky noticed the brown leather patches on its elbows and dimly registered the fact that over the years he had worn the same jacket every time he had punished her. She would never forget its appearance and characteristic smell.

“I suggest you remove your tie and unfasten your top button too. You are likely to need to breathe freely in a short while.”

She gulped at this ominous advice but complied, folding her tie and placing it on top of her skirt before returning to the spanking rug and standing self-consciously before the desk in her white shirt, white socks, shiny black shoes and big white panties.

“Thank you, Miss Jenkins. Now, let us get this distasteful task over with. Assume the position please!”

After her many previous visits, Vicky knew too well what was required. She crossed the room, took an old, high-backed wooden chair from against the wall and placed it in the middle of the rug. Standing facing the chair, she bent over at the waist and grasped the hard seat tightly in her hands; her legs still straight; her panty-covered bottom facing the corner of the room; her head resting uncomfortably against the chair’s upright back. She felt very exposed and vulnerable.

“If you are sure of your choice, you must lower your panties now Miss Jenkins.”

Vicky gulped, uneasily reached back and slipped her thumbs into the side elastic of her panties then nervously eased them slowly over her smooth buttocks, down her long thighs to her knees where they bunched ludicrously only inches away from her inverted face.

To her horror, she could see that the crotch was already damp with a mixture of arousal and the tiny trickle of pee that had escaped her. She bent lower over the chair, her naked buttocks presented fully to him, her vulva clearly visible between the tight flesh of her cheeks.

Suddenly, the quiet in the room was broken by a loud ‘swoosh, swoosh’ sound and she realised he was swinging the cane through the air behind her. Oh God, Vicky thought, he’s warming up! She raised her eyes slightly but could only see the jacket hanging over the chair, its leather patches towards her face.

“I am required to let you know how the punishment will take place, although given your history you will already be far more familiar than a nice girl should. With the cane,” he continued, “I administer the strokes in batches of four, firstly to the top of each buttock, then to the rump and finally to the underside. The latter is likely to be by far the most painful but it will be over quickly. Do you understand, Miss Jenkins?”

“Yes, Sir!” Vicky felt very nervous now. This was indeed a much more serious punishment than she had ever received before. Her head, hanging upside down over the seat, nodded as her knees shook. She thought they might even buckle as her thighs trembled and she held on to the chair for support.

“I will tap you lightly on the bottom three times before each stroke to allow you to brace yourself but otherwise once I have started the punishment will continue until it is complete.”

Vicky, too frightened to speak, couldn’t respond. She waited. 

There was silence broken only by the soft hum of the video cameras. Then she heard a soft rustling behind her and something hard touched her across both buttocks.



Tap… A third time


The cane struck Vicky across the upper part of her buttocks with a force she had not expected or anticipated, despite all her previous punishments. A loud sharp cracking sound shattered the silence as she rocked violently forward on her rigid straight legs and almost toppled over onto the chair.

She squealed aloud in shock, then the numbness induced by the blow faded and the pain began.

Oh God! It stung! It burned!

Tap… tap… tap… SWHISH - THWACK!

A second blow fell in much the same place, slightly below the first. This time her knees did buckle under her and she bit hard into her lower lip, half stifling the cry that burst out of her mouth.

Tap… tap… tap… SWHISH - THWACK!

A third stroke fell across her buttocks so close to the first that she couldn’t tell the sites of pain apart.

Tap… tap… tap… SWHISH - THWACK!

The fourth blow fell in an almost identical place. Vicky whimpered, her eyes filling with tears, trying to concentrate on the fact that the first four strokes of the cane were over. Her legs felt very weak; this was a new level of pain and humiliation beyond anything her previous misdemeanours had warranted.

But along with the pain, was there… something else… in the background?

She jumped as to her surprise she felt a large, warm palm being rubbed over the wounded, soft flesh of her bottom almost as if surveying the damage that had been caused. It lightly touched the upper part of one cheek where the cane had fallen then moved smoothly across to the other. Then a single finger slipped momentarily along the cleft in between, dancing across her tightly puckered anus and just touching the base of her slit making her shiver with...

With what? Vicky couldn’t quite understand.

“I hope when we have finished that you will remember this afternoon rather more clearly than you have remembered our other... meetings, Miss Jenkins,” the voice was still calm, still firm but there was something about the way his fingers had touched her wounded flesh that made her mind spin. “You may stand up for a minute,” his voice could hardly be heard over the buzzing in her ears.

Vicky pulled herself as upright as she could using the chair back for support. She felt dizzy and her eyes were wet with tears, more for the humiliation than the pain. Instinctively, she reached behind to feel her damaged cheeks.

“I would advise you not to touch yourself there until the end,” he said coldly, “there’s a risk of infection.”

But it was too late. When Vicky’s fingers reached her wounded buttock they found stripes of swollen flesh and she winced audibly. It hurt badly, but along with the hurt was a strange feeling of... she couldn’t quite tell.

“That’s a long enough break, Miss Jenkins,” his voice was firm again despite his soft touch and she reluctantly began to bend over the chair once more, her legs trembling badly now, “One moment! You might find it more comfortable if you removed your shirt,” he interrupted.

The room was definitely getting hotter and the shirt’s collar made it hard for her to breathe.

“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir!” she mumbled, quickly unbuttoning and slipping off her blouse, folding it neatly and placing it on the pile of clothes on the bench.

“I will endeavour to spread the next four strokes over your bottom to avoid excessive damage to any one area but caning is not an exact science and I cannot guarantee this. Do you understand?” Vicky nodded.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now assume the position again,” he commanded, “we haven’t got all day!”

Vicky obediently complied though her knees were already weak and unstable. Her bottom throbbed from the pain but she was increasingly aware of another, barely identifiable sensation building within her too. She bent over, presenting her behind to him and the cameras and grasped the chair and closed her eyes.

There was a pause before the dreaded ‘tap… tap… tap… came, this time on her right buttock, followed by a resounding THWACK as the cane struck her hard, this time half way up.

The pain of the cane striking the soft meaty part of her buttock was far, far greater than when it had struck its firmer, upper region. Vicky gasped, felt her knees begin to buckle again and fought to retain a little composure but as she felt the next three taps and the second blow fall immediately afterwards it was all she could do to remain vertical and not pee herself.


Her breath caught in her throat as her soft left buttock took the full force of the blow, its stinging pain surging down her inner thighs to her toes and back to her groin.

She braced herself for the third agonising stroke but instead felt the warm hand on her bottom again, stroking her damaged flesh. The softness of its touch helped soothe the stinging but as its palm caressed her buttocks, stray fingertips slipped back along her cleft and down between her thighs where they toyed lightly with her puffy outer lips, gently parting them and dipping into her slit.

Vicky froze, feeling her body responding automatically to his touch, despite her humiliating position, moisture oozing from her rapidly lubricating vagina onto the invading finger.

“You appear to be becoming aroused, Miss Jenkins,” the voice said sternly, “that is not the objective of this punishment.”

She cried out in shock as without warning the third and fourth strokes joined the first two in striking her soft, sensitive flesh, one sharp strong stripe on each soft fleshy cheek, their hard stinging in painfully sharp contrast to the soft warm caress of the hand between her legs only moments before. But then once again the gentle hand returned to caress her damaged flesh, its long fingers stroking her inner thighs delicately before brushing almost accidentally against her puffy labia. A strange feeling, warm and wet, rippled through her like a wave.

“You may have another minute’s break.” The voice was still calm, still devoid of emotion as the probing fingers were withdrawn from her body, leaving her damp vulva exposed to the cool air in the room.

Vicky pulled herself upright again, or at least as upright as her welt-covered buttocks would allow, holding tightly onto the chair’s back for balance as she loudly gulped in lungfuls of air and the room slowly stopped turning around her.

“Perhaps if you were to remove your brassiere too you would find it easier to breathe.”

His voice, though caring in tone, felt like a command and without thinking, Vicky obeyed, unfastening her bra, sliding it down her arms and leaving her breasts hanging free. Her nipples hardened immediately in the cool air as she placed it on top of her other clothes but this time she made no attempt to conceal them.

“That’s better. Now would you prefer to have something to bite on for the next four strokes?”

Vicky gulped. In all her punishments, she had never been asked that question before. My God! She thought. How bad would it be? The next set of strokes were to be across her lower buttocks and the top of her thighs. The most painful part!

“Will I… Will I need it Sir?” she asked tremulously.

“I think it would be advisable,” came the reply.

“Then yes please Sir,” she replied.

He opened a desk drawer and took something out then crossed to where she stood, now naked except for her knee socks, black shoes and the panties bunched around her knees.

“Open!” He commended. Vicky opened her mouth and a thick leather pad was slipped between her teeth. She bit on it; it was firm, strong and tasted of old tobacco.

“Now bend over!”

Dazed and far beyond any remaining modesty, Vicky assumed the punishment position for a third time, her freed breasts dangling down beneath her heaving chest.

“The next strokes will be on the base of your cheeks and top of your thighs. The flesh is softer there and it is likely that they will sting considerably more than the last.”

Vicky gulped again and held her breath. She did not have long to wait.

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

The pain that shot through her body as the cane struck the soft, delicate skin at the top of her thighs surpassed all her previous agonies. Vicky yelped into the gag in amazement as her lower buttocks took the full force of the cane’s cruel punishment but to her astonishment, the real shocke came from the tiny amount of force that the stroke had given to the naked, exposed, slightly puffy lips of her vulva that protruded slightly from between her bare buttocks.

She had not expected that at all! Her knees trembled but she couldn’t tell whether from pain or this strange new pleasure, if that was the right word for this amazing new sensation.

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

The second stroke fell almost exactly in the same place. Vicky cried out and bit hard into the gag, her voice a high pitched, muffled whimper, her bottom writhing as she lost control of her legs; her vulva and thighs tingling madly. But alongside the terrible bite of the cane into the flesh of her thighs, there was no mistaking the powerful sexual thrill that simply surged through the engorged outer lips of her vulva and into her belly as the cane merely clipped her swollen lips. Her whole vulva tingled and throbbed wildly, her knees wobbled but she couldn’t be sure whether the pain or the pleasure was the cause.

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

The third stroke fell in the soft crease between her upper thighs and her lower buttocks, her cheeks taking most of the force of the blow, but again there was more than enough left to twang against the increasingly puffy and distended vulva that protruded at the base of her cleft, this time along its lower edge, close to the damp entrance to her vagina.

Vicky whimpered and held onto the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. Pain and arousal washed over her, so entwined within her body that she could not separate them. The pain was so arousing; the arousal was so painful! She felt the increasingly familiar warm hand stroking the bruised flesh of her buttocks gently, almost lovingly then delicately cupping her hyper-sensitive vulva. A long finger ran along her slit then probed the entrance to her most private place again.

“Please Sir,” she hissed, not knowing or understanding what she wanted from him, “Please…”

The finger slipped its full length into her weeping vagina. Vicky felt herself automatically pressing back against it, forcing it deep into her body until her vulva was pressed hard against the hand’s warm palm. She felt it move within her, twisting from left to right inside her hot, wet passage; she felt the pressure of his palm against her engorged outer lips and a thumb toying with her dark sphincter above. She pressed back harder. Her whole body was tingling, pleasure and pain mixed tightly together, her chest tightening, her body getting warmer and warmer until... a shudder flashed through her as the hand was slowly withdrawn leaving her on the edge, confused...

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

The pain across Vicky’s upper thighs was excruciating but this time with it came a huge pulse of pleasure much stronger than the last, almost overpowering the scream from her striped cheeks and making her knees shake uncontrollably.

“Oh my Goddd!” she gasped, biting hard into the leather, feeling and smelling the lubrication that dripped from her engorged vulva only inches from her inverted head and displayed obscenely in front of the man who was bringing her so much pleasure along with so much pain.

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

The fourth stroke landed directly in the crease where her buttocks and thighs joined, giving Vicky’s red, swollen, distended vulva a short, sharp, stinging blow far harder than any she had yet endured.

Immediately, a massive pulse of orgasm washed over her, shaking her whole body in a tsunami of heat that began at her collapsing knees, shaking her trembling thighs, making her throbbing vulva weep even more as the wave of climax surged through her belly and on towards her tight chest and dangling breasts.

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

Vicky was beyond control long before the fifth, unexpected stroke landed on her bottom, much less forcefully than the others but this time between her cheeks, straight along the length of her cleft, striking her puckered anus and pulsing, throbbing slit directly.

“Oh Jesus! Oh Help!” she hissed almost silently.

As her body reeled from the unexpected onslaught, another massive wave of orgasm passed through her along with the huge pulse of pain; a new, exciting and frightening mixture she had never dreamed existed.

She grasped the chair as tightly as she could as her body shook with the tremors of this new and entirely unfamiliar climax. A trickle of her juices began to run down the inside of her thighs and she closed her eyes tightly, barely able to stand.

“Oh Sir!” she gasped, her voice almost a squeal. “Oh Please Sir! Oh please!”

Tap… tap… tap… THWACK!

At the sixth stroke, the dam finally broke and wave after wave of earth shattering orgasm washed over her. Vicky’s knees gave way completely and she fell across the chair, her hands still clasping its back, her bare breasts crushed against the seat by her body’s weight, her knees on the floor as her whole being shook uncontrollably.

“Oh God! Sir! Oh my God!” The words were almost unintelligible as Vicky lay across the chair and waited for the next blow to fall on her defenceless body.

It never came.

There was a rustling behind her, then a short, muffled, metallic sound.

Something or someone forced apart her unresisting thighs.

Someone knelt silently between her spread legs; she could feel the heat from his body.

Something large and warm with a smooth end was rubbed against her wet, wounded buttocks. She winced.

The same something was rubbed across her damaged upper thighs. She gasped.

The something was rubbed up and down the length of her swollen cane-marked and very wet slit. She held her breath.

It parted her outer lips. She moaned.

It parted her inner lips. Her eyes opened wider, staring fuzzily at the jacket with its leather patches that still hung from the chair in front of her.

And then the something was thrust deep into her vagina from behind. Vicky’s eyes opened wide then closed tightly as her battered body was penetrated forcefully. Two strong hands grasped her by the waist and pulled her hard onto the huge penetrating pole of muscle, driving it deep into her body until its head pressed tight against her cervix and the freshly caned flesh of her vulva and buttocks was pressed hard against the invader’s belly and thighs.

She spat out the leather gag.

“Oh Yes! Oh my God yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, Sir!”

Vicky wailed as the invading cock was slowly withdrawn then immediately thrust back into her vagina, now loose, wet and defenceless, at first in long, slow, deep strokes that reached deep into her body, then shorter and faster penetrations that brought its owner’s belly in contact with her burning cheeks time and again.

“Oh Sir… Please Sir… Please… Oh, God, Yes…” Her voice sounded pleading and pathetic, even to her own ears.

Deeper and deeper he took her, faster and faster he forced himself relentlessly into her from behind, filling the room with loud, wet slapping sounds as their bodies collided over and over again.

Her shaking legs felt useless as the man’s strong frame and fearsome erection held her firmly, helpless, entirely at his mercy. She gasped for breath as wave after wave of powerful orgasm pulsed through her body. The cock inside her felt huge - her swollen, damaged labia minutely sensitised to every ridge and furrow on the shaft that mercilessly and repeatedly penetrated her, thrusting faster and faster, increasing in speed and force until the strokes were short, sharp and rapid.

Dazed and dizzy, Vicky instinctively clamped down as hard on the invading cock as her damaged vulva would allow and was rewarded by a groan of pleasure from behind her and a new wave of mounting climax from her own body.

“Please… I can’t take… take any more…!” she moaned aloud. No more than half a dozen strong, almost violent strokes later, a final, full, earth-shattering orgasm wracked her body. Behind her, a loud, hard, half-animal grunt came from between her spread thighs and she felt the unmistakeable sweetness of her wounded, pleading vagina being filled with hot, sticky semen from the pulsating cock embedded deep within her.

The thrusting became wild and uncontrolled; the room suddenly filled with harsh, animal grunts and groans as driven by the intensity of his ejaculation, his thrusts became wild and violent. She cried out with pain, no - with pleasure, no - with pain as he came and came again; her head spinning, the room revolving around her, her eyes clouding.

Then mercifully, the thrusting quickly slowed then finally ceased. The room fell silent as they paused motionless, panting for breath, their chests heaving. She could feel his shirt front lightly tickling her hot back as she lay sprawled across the chair, her chest and arms draped helplessly over its hard wooden seat.

Vicky felt exhausted, slightly sick, her head began spinning wildly, and she began to faint.

In her daze, she dimly felt a strong arm slipping around her waist, taking her weight as the rapidly softening penis slipped messily from her body. The arm was joined by another around her chest and she felt her exhausted body being gently lowered to the rug. She winced as her damaged buttocks touched its rough surface then rolled onto her side, truly spent. A trickle of thick, creamy semen ran down her red-striped buttocks and onto the spanking rug beneath her.

She was dimly aware of strong arms picking her exhausted, battered body gently from the floor; of being carried out into the corridor, through other doors and around corners before being lain in a soft bed.

The smell was familiar. It was her bed. It was over. A small pillow was slipped under her head and a blanket was carefully pulled over her. A kiss was placed on her forehead. She fell asleep, exhausted.


“Is tea ready yet Mum? I’m starving!” The question came from the dirty, soil-encrusted nine year old boy in football kit who burst in through the back door trailing mud behind him across the kitchen tiles

“Boots outside!” she commanded and with a grunt, the boy vanished, reappearing a few seconds later barefoot.

“NOW can you tell me...?” he asked in a mock moan.

His mother bent down to open the oven door and check the large baking tray that sizzled within. The boy thought he saw her gasp and wince as she squatted low on her heels but was much too interested in food to ask why.

“There’s just time for you to go and get yourself clean, properly clean, that means washing the mud off BEFORE you use the towel, right?” she said.

“Yes Mum, ” and he was gone.
At the breakfast bar his older sister looked up from her mathematics homework and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Mummm! Why did you have to have a boy too?”

“You’ll have to ask your father,” her mother joked, “he’s in charge of difficult questions today.”

“Can you help me with these maths problems then?” the girl winged, “they should be easy for you. Or just sit and look over my shoulder when I do them?”

“I’d better just stand here and finish the dinner first or you’ll all be on my case. Ask your father when he comes out of the study.”

“He’s not still in there is he?”

“Be patient! He’ll be out in a minute. He’s finishing off on the computer after our meeting this afternoon. It’s like that when you work from home.”

“Meeting? Bor-ring!” The girl moaned. “I’m glad I don’t have to go to meetings!”

Her mother smiled and fidgeted in her loose-fitting dress as the door opened and a man entered.

“It’s ready,” he smiled at his wife as he turned to greet him. “If you check over the final edit we can upload the video this evening.”

“Dad-dyyyy!” the girl said, grabbing his arm. “Can you help me with my maths? Mum says it’s your turn!”

“Okay Princess!” he said. “Let’s sit at the table while we wait for dinner.”

He hung his jacket with the leather elbow patches and the distinctive aroma over the back of the chair and sat alongside his daughter.

“Your brother might have scraped a bit of the dirt off himself by the time we’re done then we can all sit together and eat.”

“If you don’t mind,” his wife said softly, “I won’t sit at the table with you. I... I had a little... something in the meeting earlier this afternoon and I don’t feel like a sit-down meal. I’ll be in the study finishing off on the computer.”

“Is everything all right, Vicky?” The man asked, turning to look at his lovely wife and taking her right hand in his left.

She looked down at the birth-mark at the base of his thumb, about the size of a fifty pence piece.

“Everything’s just fine,” she replied, smiling, “I just had a punishing afternoon, that’s all.”

She grinned broadly at her husband.

“We didn’t quite finish and I don’t want to get into any more trouble!”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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