A spanking story collection, containing six short stories – University of Errors; My Political Daughter; A Rounded Figure; Free To Cry; Big Naughty; Demerit Slip – all by Pygmalion, Esq., spanking aficionado. A grab-bag of spanking scenarios, both amusing and erotic, sure to please any taste.
Esquire’s Orders 1
six spanking stories
by Pygmalion, Esq.
Copyright © 2012
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Esquire’s Orders 1
six spanking stories
by Pygmalion, Esq.
Table of Contents
“The price of silence…” After an Away game party, three athletic co-eds at a conservative Christian university are faced with a choice between a term of canings and the slipper or ratting out their friends and teammates…but there’s nothing to actually confess! There’s only one desperate way out of this truth-tellers dilemma, and it could be just as hazardous to their bottoms. [M/fff, F/f, f/f]
When Jenny Powers helps her Senator father run for reelection over the objections of her hot-tempered mother, she finds herself subject to an unusual level of attention. When she almost ruins her father's campaign in a night of drunken crazy-sex, it turns out that even if the heat of the political spotlight can't blister her bottom...well, her mother's strap can! A spanking story [F/f, M/f]
A sexy boss is not the same as long-term relationship... A spanking story [M/F, F/F]
Jacob's mother isn't confident when disciplining her disobedient 18-year-old, so it's a good thing her husband is around to paddle Jake's bare bottom red. But when Jacob's father is away on business and Jake goes wild--cheating on a Spanish test! necking with her best friend's daughter!--well, she needs to get confident, and fast. Looks like Jake and his mom are going to have a heart-to-heart...and a blistered bottom is going to get a hard paddling! A spanking story [M/m, F/m, F/f (heard)]
A spanking story of sex, love, and newlyweds. Sam and Gloria are having a wonderful time, full of spanking, sex, and fun...but when a comic injury temporarily incapacitates Sam’s spanking hand, what’s Big Naughty to do? [M/F sex]
“What did I do?” When high school senior Harold gets a mysterious demerit, he must endure spankings parental and academic, along with the relentless teasing of his girlfriend. His bottom sore, it’s a race against strap and paddle - can he get the slip signed, unravel the mystery of his infraction and, most importantly, deal unto his lovely brat her sexy comeuppance? [FF/m (teacher), F/m (parent), m/f]
The three young ladies sat in the waiting room outside the university dean’s office, wondering who would be the first to be caned.
Tabitha Tam crossed her legs at that thought, her regulation university-code dress sliding up her dark legs to reveal lighter un-tanned skin beneath. She shifted, uncomfortable, and looked to her friends, her teammates.
Meghan Trollope grinned back at her, leaning back with her fingers interlaced behind her head, the university-code blouse barely containing an—to use the old-fashioned term (and this university most emphatically did)—‘ample bosom’, matched only by a derriere of equal breadth. Tabitha sighed at her friend’s confidence, but that’s why she was a great player.
She looked to Rachel Drake, whose blonde hair and petite figure concealed a surprisingly toned body. She could see tears in her friend’s eyes, hands already rubbing an unmarked bottom. Of the three, Rachel was the most well-behaved, the least punished. Up until now. Whoever went first, Tabitha knew, they’d all be caned today. Eventually.
“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to cheer her team-mate up. It was her duty as squad captain, after all, and as a friend.
“Yeah,” said Meghan. “In, out. We’ll be fine.”
“We shouldn’t tell?” Rachel asked, for the third time since they’d been brought here.
“Are we snitches?” asked Tabitha.
“We ought to tell the truth,” said Rachel.
“The truth is that we won’t tell,” said Meghan, leaning forward. “No matter what. Right?”
Rachel winced, and Tabitha felt her bottom start to tingle. This was going to hurt, but they wouldn’t give in. “You won’t give in, right?” she asked Rachel. “All together, right?”
“R—right,” said Rachel. “It’s just that—“
“Yeah?” said Meghan.
“Well, I haven’t been spanked for years. It’s embarrassing! It’ll hurt!”
“Supposed to hurt,” said Meghan, a little too flippantly for Tabitha’s tastes. Rachel whimpered.
“Don’t worry,” said Tabitha, but she was remembering her freshman caning, a new student at Bill Seamus’ Bible Institute. Her skirt had been too short, by one professor’s judgment, so she had been sent to the dean for a caning. No appeal, of course, their parents had all signed before they were admitted. It had been her first caning, ever—her mother had found the flat of a hairbrush sufficient, and her father had wielded the belt when teenage rebellion became too much—and it had come as a shock. It had been over so fast! …but it had stung for days. She winced with the memory. “I’m sorry, Rachel. But we’re all in this together. For the team.”
“For the team,” said Meghan, who still looked too comfortable for Tabitha’s liking. How many times had the girl been beaten over the years? Tabitha knew that her wild friend had been red-bottomed more than was good for her, but how many official canings from Dean Peters, instead of a less formal slippering from Mrs. Henshaw, or, even more informal, an office spanking from a kind professor, in lieu of formal punishment? She found herself envying her friend, then shook her head at the ridiculous thought.
Then “For…the team,” said Rachel, and it was decided.
“Miss Tam!” a shouted command, making the three young women start with surprise. “In here, young lady.” It was Mrs. Henshaw, pointing at Tabitha. So, she’d be first, then.
***
“Miss Tam,” said Dean Peters, the stocky, balding man leaning against his desk, whipping the university girl’s cane idly through the air. “Or, should I say ‘Captain’ Tam? I suppose you should go first. Have you anything to say, Tabitha?”
“No, sir,” said Tabitha, standing straight and trying to ignore the itching skin on her bottom. She would not rub, not now, not ever. She looked the dean in the eyes. “Nothing.”
Mrs. Henshaw’s hand grasped her arm. “You sure, girl?” the woman said. “Your friends will rat you out,” the sureness in her voice made Tabitha tense with anger. “You wouldn’t want to take a caning for nothing, would you?”
“And you’ll get another, for sure,” said Dean Peters. “If…no, when they do.” He whipped the cane through the air, making a sickening swoosh. Tabitha felt sick, and tried to control herself.
“No sir.”
“You maintain, then, that at the Away game at Minnesota Temple, where an after-game party involving alcohol was broken up and some girls confessed to their dean that they were there, he relaying this information to me, that neither you, nor your friends, nor any other student of Bill Seamus Bible Institute was present?”
“That’s correct, sir,” she said, nervousness making the confusing sentence impenetrable. “There was no alcohol.”
“Liar,” said Mrs. Henshaw, dragging her toward the desk. The dean stepped out of the way.
“Please bend over the desk, Miss Tam. Help her, Mrs. Henshaw.”
None too gently, Tabitha was pushed over the desk, and Mrs. Henshaw forced her arms across the surface to grip the edge. Her toes barely touched the floor, and she cried out when Mrs. Henshaw started to lift her skirt. “What are you doing?”
“Your punishment will be on your bare bottom, Miss Tam,” said the dean. Tabitha kicked her leg up, but Mrs. Henshaw grabbed her by the ankle and forced it back down, hard. “The price of silence…”
“I’m here to make sure there’s no hanky-panky,” said Mrs. Henshaw, and laughed. “Don’t worry.” Tabitha’s long skirt fell over her head, and she was in darkness. She cried out. “Quiet,” said Mrs. Henshaw, and Tabitha felt her cotton panties being lowered and bunched carefully around her knees. The cool air of the office air conditioner blew on her bare skin, and she felt goose-bumps form. The itching was unbearable, and she wanted to rub it away. She heard the cane swish through the air, and she started to cry.
“Last chance, ‘Captain’ Tam.”
She sniffled. “No, sir.”
“Very well. Hold her down, Mrs. Henshaw.” Tabitha heard the woman walk around the desk and felt strong arms gripping her forearm. She tried to struggle, but there was nowhere to go. She felt tears run down her cheeks, then she gasped as the cold wood of the cane touched her bottom. “Today, you’ll have six. Hold still, now, or I’ll miss.”
Before she could tense, the cane rose and fell with a pop!, and a rush of pain ran up her hips. She cried out, completely unprepared for this, then the next pop fell, a little below the first. She bucked forward, but Mrs. Henshaw kept her in position for the third and the fourth. There was a long pause, the air conditioning stinging her injured bottom. “You’ll have that every third day, from now to the end of term,” said the dean. “You can confess now, Miss Tam.”
“No…,” she said, between sobs. The darkness was horrible; she could feel the dean’s eyes running over her nakedness. “No, sir.”
The fifth pop came out of nowhere, slamming into her bottom across the first four marks. The pain was so intense that she heard rather than felt the final stroke, and then she was a ball of sobs, trying to move her hands to rub her burning bottom, but failing because of Mrs. Henshaw.
“Bring in the next one,” she heard the dean command. “What’s-her-name? The big one.”
“Miss Trollope.”
“Yes, let her see her friend. Maybe she’ll reconsider.”
“Please, no,” pleaded Tabitha, but nobody was listening. Mrs. Henshaw released her, and a moment later she heard Meghan gasp as she saw her friend’s blistered bottom. She moved her hands to cover herself.
“Get out, Miss Tam,” said Dean Peters. “Wait outside.”
Tabitha gathered herself up as the dean started to harangue Meghan, and ran out of the room as Mrs. Henshaw dragged her friend across the desk. She shut the door behind her and fell into a chair, sobbing, oblivious to her surroundings. As the sound of the first pop! on Meghan’s bottom drummed into her ears, she felt a light kiss on her forehead, and looked up. Rachel, shaking like a leaf, brushed tears out of her eyes, and embraced her, all through their friend’s beating. “Oh no,” said Rachel, when it ended.
“Stay strong,” said Tabitha, trying to simulate courage for her petrified friend.
“I can,” said Rachel, trying to convince herself.
Mrs. Henshaw opened the door and brought Rachel inside, and Tabitha heard her start to cry as she saw Meghan. Before Meghan could close the door, they both heard the first stroke and their friend’s screams. Rachel didn’t stop wailing until they’d got back to their dormitory.
***
“Dean Peters said I’ll be the first one caned again,” said Meghan, at breakfast. “Today.”
“And I’ll be caned tomorrow,” said Rachel. “And you the next day, Tabitha. Until the end of term or we confess.”
“There’s nothing to confess,” said Tabitha, angrily. “We’re not traitors, and besides we didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t think I can take it again, Tabitha,” said Rachel quietly.
“You have to,” said Meghan.
“It’s easy for you to say!” cried Rachel. Tabitha saw tears in her eyes. “Your bottom is probably tough as leather by now.”
Meghan sniffed, but had the good grace not to be offended. “Not leather,” she said.
“And you’re the captain,” Rachel went on, whirling on Tabitha. “If you took responsibility, they’d let us off.”
“Not this time, I think,” said Tabitha. “This isn’t a ‘responsibility’ test. He wants to punish us. It’s our last year, and he wants to impress us.”
“Oh no,” said Rachel, bursting into tears. “Please, let me out.”
“No,” said Meghan, standing up from the table. “Show some backbone.”
“It’s not my backbone that’s on display!” Rachel wailed, running after her.
This was just funny enough, in their grim circumstances, that all three girls broke down laughing as they ran to class.
***
As it happened, Meghan and Rachel were called out of Miss Petchablon’s Biblical Hebrew class at the same time that day. The young professor—not much older than her students but with such a harried look that she’d been nicknamed Miss ‘Put-upon’—read the order over again, then sighed and sent the two girls away. Tabitha watched them go, and was so distracted through the class that it took a final threat of one of Miss Put-upon’s rare office spankings to recall her attention to her studies. She didn’t want that, on top of everything.
She met the two after class, Rachel sobbing as she walked beside Meghan on the quad. “Did they cane both of you?”
“No,” said Meghan, and Tabitha spotted her stiff walk. “He gave me twelve, and forced her to watch.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t! I can’t!”
“You can and you will,” said Tabitha firmly.
“For the team,” said Meghan.
“For the team,” sniffed Rachel.
“You remember the party, right? We didn’t drink anything!”
“I didn’t even see any alcohol,” said Meghan. “That damn—”
“—darn,” coughed Tabitha. “That darn Minnesota Temple dean must have forced some girl to confess.”
“You mean, to lie?”
“Well, you say you’re about to, aren’t you?”
“No! Never.”
“Good,” nodded Tabitha, knowing it wasn’t. She knew her teammate, and Rachel couldn’t hold out much longer.
The next day Rachel was called to the dean’s office after the last hour. She never came back to dinner, and her friends found her in her bed when they got back, not even changed out of her clothes. She wouldn’t talk to them, and wouldn’t let Tabitha kiss her. She cried herself to sleep.
***
Tabitha’s turn came in the morning, of all the luck, and Rachel was still in bed. “Try to get her ready,” she said to Meghan as she hurried out. “We’ve got to stay strong.”
“Screw that. I have a better idea,” Meghan snarled, picking up her purse and stalking out of the room. Tabitha tried to stop her, then looked back at Rachel. She hoped her friend would get ready on her own. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she missed her appointment. Not that it could get any worse.
Tabitha tried to keep her hands away from her bottom as she walked across campus—and why, she fumed, were the girl’s dormitories on the opposite side of campus from the administrative offices?—until she reached the waiting room. It was empty, as expected. She had an appointment. She knocked on the door. “Enter,” said Dean Peters, so she did.
“Your little friend confessed,” said Mrs. Henshaw from behind her, and Tabitha jumped, startled. “You’re in for it now.”
“What?”
“Indeed,” said the dean, steepling his fingers and glaring at her, a small smile on his face.
“Very wise of her, that,” said Mrs. Henshaw, grabbing Tabitha’s arm. “You should have thought of it first.”
“You can still confess,” said the dean as Mrs. Henshaw put Tabitha over the desk. Her face was inches away from his chest. “Perhaps we can be lenient. Let Miss Trollope be the scapegoat.”
“She’s the wild one, isn’t she? Why protect her?”
“Your little friend said she wouldn’t be on the same team as that one,” said Mrs. Henshaw, and Tabitha felt her skirt being lifted again, slower this time, as if Mrs. Henshaw were enjoying the view. “Just kick her off, and—“
“She did not.”
“What?” said Dean Peters, a shocked expression on his face.
Tabitha kicked back and Mrs. Henshaw cried out. “Rachel did not say that. She didn’t confess. You liar,” she said, and tried to spit, but her mouth was too dry. “She’s for the team. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
The skirt fell over her head again as Mrs. Henshaw recovered, and she felt it held tight around her upper body, blocking any light. She screamed, but it was muffled. She tried to kick, but Mrs. Henshaw ripped her panties down around her ankles to bind them. Tabitha started to cry again, but this time in impotent rage, the skirt around her head and the blood beating in her ears keeping her from hearing the conversation between the two.
She heard “slipper”, and then felt herself being dragged off the table and over Mrs. Henshaw’s lap, her legs tightly locked by the woman’s massive leg, her left arm trapped behind her in the woman’s grip, her right arm barely touching the floor. She struggled, flopping like a fish, then the hail of blows began to fall, the heavy plimsole slapping into her thighs and bottom with vigorous force, again and again. She began to plead, meaningless phrases that she couldn’t even understand herself, then she started to cry as the pain kept on, the relentless Mrs. Henshaw slapping the slipper down again and again and again.
By the time it stopped, her bottom was throbbing and numb, which almost kept her from feeling the caning. Almost.
***
Tabitha walked into the end of Miss Petchablon’s class to apologize for missing it, having spent the rest of the morning crouching in a stall of the administration building’s women’s restroom— praying that Mrs. Henshaw wouldn’t come in while she rubbed and rubbed at the pain—until the burning of her bottom had gone down. Making her way through the departing students, she saw a look of concern on Ms Put-upon’s face. “Come to my office, Tabitha.”
“Oh, ma’am. I’m sorry I missed,” she said, tears starting. “Please don’t—”
“Only a consultation, Miss Tam,” the woman said, not making eye contact. She put away her glasses and stood up. “Come along.”
Tabitha followed the thin woman to the small office adjoining the classroom. Every part was cluttered except the couch, and Miss Petchablon sat down, patting the empty seat to invite Tabitha to sit beside her. “Please don’t spank me, Miss,” said Tabitha, holding her bottom.