Part 1 - Robin's Story

Part 1 - Robin's Story - Be Prepared

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Robin’s story…

Be Prepared

Part 1

It was not that I was particularly naughty as a boy; I was just fascinated by bottoms. I loved observing them, particularly the plumpness, pinkness and roundness of girl’s bottoms. Oh how I loved those full rounded curves. Everything about them would lead my eyes in their direction as they went by. I would spot a pretty girl coming my way, maybe it was something about the way she was walking, or something that she was wearing; a pair of shorts or thin summer dress, especially against the light, would immediately get my attention and I would prepare my move, make my plan, contrive the way to get an extra look, hopefully from a low angle, of those soft curves as they bounced past. At any excuse I would try to get a glimpse. Any opportunity would have me pausing, pretending to adjust my shoes or pull up my socks so that I would be there, ready to feast my eyes on the fluidity and the shape of those rippling orbs packing out knickers; their soft, heavy overhangs rippling or wobbling, as they walked on by.

I suppose that it was a sexual fascination, it must have been; yet I was at a very early stage of my sexual development at that time. I was adolescent so almost certainly it would have had something to do with the way that my hormones were developing within my body and, at the time, the way that certain images were causing neural connections within my brain to cause me to behave in this way. It certainly brought me much pleasure; but did have a downside and, on one particular occasion, caused me a strange kind of distress that was both pleasurable and extremely painful at the same time. The memory of that event has stayed with me for all of my life and it is that experience that I feel compelled to share with you now.

I was a boy scout, that popular movement in its day that allowed young men to play at being soldiers. The scouting movement though, as well as being an institution that gave young people direction, morality and pride, was also an opportunity for older people, those that should have known better, to gain access to their young charges and to do with them whatever they desired. These were the scoutmasters, the guide-mistresses, the arkalas, some of whom were truly inspired and wanted to be involved in the development of young minds; but there were others that just wanted unhindered and uncontested access to their young developing bodies.

Tom, the scout master was one such person.

Thomas Preston was his name; but he insisted that we use the less formal address of his shortened first name. This typified the progressive attitude he had towards those under his charge. An attitude that had certainly not found its way into schools and educational institutes at that time; there mister or sir was still how adults should be addressed.

I might be doing Tom a grave injustice by saying that he was so inclined to have an un-healthy interest in young boys. I only mention that now with hindsight for, prior to the occasion that I am about to relate, he had never caused me any distress. He was a firm disciplinarian admittedly who, during inspection or drill, would never allow any laziness or sloppiness. He believed in exactness and precision and would not tolerate any thing less. He would sometimes threaten a sound slippering; but, although this hardly ever took place, we never considered it to be a hollow threat as we had no doubt that this man, not only had the strength and the will to carry it out; he also had the experience, somewhere within his history, of having performed this deed upon many a recalcitrant boy in his charge. He even had the size eleven plimsoll to prove it and at times of over exuberance and excessive noise from the troop, would bring it out, slap it loudly on a bench while at the same time bellowing “quiet!” and immediately the place would come to order. There was certainly no doubt in our minds that this was no hollow threat and here was someone who firmly believed that the way to good discipline was a firm hand and an unwavering attitude. Whether or not he gained any sexual gratification from his command over young boys is debatable, but at this stage of the story I had nothing but respect and hero worship for him.

If the scout master had some resemblance of decency and virtue, the guide mistress was an entirely different individual.

Her name was Kim, Kimberly Stanton-Granger. How many times had I seen that name in the local paper, achieving gold in this, becoming first at that and receiving distinction at the other? She was tall, blonde, and incredibly athletic; in fact she had just represented her college at tennis in the regional championships and was reputed to have an extremely strong backhand serve. She was totally confident and had that head-girl quality that meant everyone was totally besotted by her. She could get absolutely anything she wanted and certainly knew how to use her incredible attributes to her advantage.

All the men that ever met her, and most of the guides if the truth were known, would lust and dream of being closer to her and she used that attraction to persuade, cajole, seduce and play with her admirers outrageously. Everyone was quite clear about her inclinations; she exuded sexuality. To use a modern day euphemism, she was an out and out cock teaser and the more cocks that remained teased after she had woven her particular style of charm upon them, the happier she was.

To give her her due, she was a dedicated and devoted guide mistress and always supported her girls in every respect. A born leader, she would have her troop, in perfect two-by-two file, escorting her like true devotees to wherever they were led. She was protective and, as far as she was concerned, her little darlings could do no wrong. It was this dedication to her brood that got me into trouble.

Two of her most precocious devotees were a real handful. The scouts had a nickname for them, Pinky and Perky, after a pair of animated pigs that had recorded a song with squeaky voices that had somehow got into the hit parade. Pinky and Perky were inseparable, and insufferable just like the animated pigs that had earned them that nickname. They were always seen together, giggling and goading each other over some private amusement. They were aloof and regarded boys if not with disdain then certainly as play things.

Generally we could not be bothered with the guides; we were far more interested at that age in pretending to be soldiers. The truth was that, although we might have been interested in them secretly and in our fantasies, we just did not know what to do. We had absolutely no experience, so we just did not bother. Instead we indulged our fantasies in the secrecy of our own bedrooms and got on with more important things; like tying knots and getting our field craft badges.

The event I want to describe occurred during a scout meeting.

There were many scouting events throughout the year, but the biggest by far and the one attracting enthusiasts from all over, was the national jamboree. That year it was being held in the south east of England in the grounds of Winston Churchill’s off-time residence at Chartwell in Kent. This was some eighty odd miles away from our town so, although it did not warrant an overnight camp under canvas, it meant we would be transported there and back by bus. For economy, a double-decked bus had been hired to take all the scouts and guides together in one troop.

We had all been instructed to assemble at our own scout hut early on this particular morning, in full uniform.

Scouts at the time wore a full khaki uniform; shorts, shirt and a green beret. The senior venture scouts had a maroon beret and sea scouts wore blue berets with a grey uniform. Guides had both summer and winter uniforms; but the basic theme was pale blue blouses and darker blue skirts. This being the summer they wore both of thin cotton with white ankle socks and black patent pumps.

I was not one for conformity and at that age wanted to make a statement by the way I dressed, so I was inclined to modify or enhance my uniform in whatever way I could to make it look un-uniform. When I could get away with it I did not wear the beret but, instead, had it rolled up tucked under the epaulet on my left shoulder. The khaki shirt was conventional enough, except that I wore a lanyard linking the left epaulet with the buttoned down breast pocket. I used to feel so gauche in my uniform like that. My shorts though were almost obscene when I think about it now. I had worn the same pair from when I first became a scout nearly five years previously. So, as well as the fabric being very thin from many boil washes, they were also extremely tight. It did not help that, as well as growing rapidly in those teenage years, I had also become very keen on cycling and my muscles, especially the buttocks were, if anything, over developed. My shorts were so tight that the seam running down the back separated and divided the two halves distinctly.

So we had all gathered at the hut. As you can imagine with that many young people assembled for a day out, there was plenty of playful banter and hi-jinks while waiting for the bus. Despite the early hour we were all fresh and feeling mildly excited. Tom, the scout master was talking to Kim the guide mistress. She was flirting as usual, except whenever she became distracted by her girls of course. Her distraction would have mostly been caused by Pinky and Perky who were exceedingly high spirited on this particular day. They had rolled their thin cotton skirts up at the waist to shorten the length and were wearing their blouses un-tucked. I heard Kim admonish them a number of times and, although their skirts returned to the regulation length for a while, it was not long before far too many inches of thigh above their knees for correctness were on display once more.

Their attention was drawn towards some sea-scouts who must have thought that their luck was in, although of course they were just being played with. P&P had gained what little flirting experience they had by emulating their leader, a practiced exponent of the teased cock, by which these sea-scouts were, figuratively speaking, being led along by right then. To P&P these lads were new blood; the sea-scouts were based at a hut some way from there, so we did not usually see much of them except at county or national events; so they were being mercilessly taunted with teasing, flirting and the glimpse of young thighs.

When the bus arrived, Kim, who had been observing what was going on between the sea-scouts and her girls and no doubt wanted to dampen the flirtation before any hearts got broken; in agreement with Tom, had ordered that the scouts should travel on the lower deck of the bus and that the guides should go upstairs. As soon as I heard this I knew that I would have the opportunity to observe some lovely young bottoms if only I could contrive to go up the stairs a few steps behind the guides and look up their skirts on the way up. I was particularly motivated by the short skirts of Pinky and Perky and I already had a plan forming in my mind.

So, just when everyone was boarding the bus, on the pretext of having just remembered something that I had left behind, I raced back to the hut and waited in the porch hidden from view. I was becoming quite excited in anticipation of what delights I might see under those thin summer skirts. I watched the chaos at the bus while khaki and grey got on board. Perfect for my plan, the guides were held back, I supposed to remove and protect them from the commotion. After the boys were all aboard the younger guides were sent on first. This was also perfect, for it meant that the more mature bottoms, including Pinky’s and Perky’s, would be the last up, hopefully with me close behind.

I made my move, sprinting for the bus as though it would go without me, hopped on and, with a cursory glance at the crowded lower deck, as if to confirm that there was no more room for me down there, proceeded upstairs behind Pinky and Perky.

They could not have performed better. There was still a lot of playful pushing, poking and pulling going on. Perky was ahead of Pinky who was a few steps ahead of me. My eyes were already towards the top of the stairs taking in the view of girlish legs as they skipped up the stairs.

“Hurry along up there”, I shouted “plenty of room on top”, mimicking the typical cry of bus conductors of the day and also disguising the subterfuge of my route upstairs by being perfectly blaze about my reason for going that way. Perky stopped momentarily, startled by the male voice so close behind her, and was shoved forward by her friend. This caused her to miss the step and stumble forward steadying herself by placing her hands on the top platform. It meant that her butt was stuck out right above my eyes and I got the most delightful view. Chubby cheeks packed out thin gingham knickers, a row of pale blue lace bordered the edge of the legs, one of which was raised so that half an orb of bare skin was visible. I had a clear view right up to the waist band and some bare skin beyond. I could clearly make out the depth of crack between the fleshy mounds which swelled out and around like two peaches. My cock hardened instantly.

Then she was up and moving through the bus.

Pinky was next.

I am sure that she knew what I was about, for she glanced back and met my eyes with a glint. There were only the two of us then on the stairs. Almost as if to give me a show, she very slowly took each step at a time, exaggerating the movement of her hips as she stepped up. This swaying of her skirt afforded me a delicious meal of soft pink flesh and quivering buttocks. The white stretched cotton of her panties, which were much briefer than Perky’s, was so thin that it was almost transparent and I could easily imagine what this teenage bottom would look like unclothed. I paused while she gained a few more steps and absolutely feasted my eyes on the stretch of her bared legs and the cuteness of the overhang of the fleshiest part of her lovely cheeks. I imagined taking a nibble of sensitive flesh and rolling it between my teeth. My cock was pulsating, swelling to the extremity of my tight shorts and I loved it. Then she did the most amazing thing. Just before she reached the top stair she took hold of both hand rails and, with her weight on both arms, bending at the knee and the waist, stuck her butt in my face so far that her skirt was over my head. I could almost put my nose between her bum cheeks and pass my tongue between her legs. I got a distinctive whiff of freshly scrubbed young girl with a slight hint of fish paste. My cock was now so hard it ached. Then she pulled on her arms, launched herself onto the top deck and was away.

Very much aware now of the tightness of my shorts, I proceeded up the stairs.

“And what do you think you are doing up here?”

My head was being pulled around by the ear to bring it face-to-face with Kim who was behind the shield on the top deck where I could not have seen her when I got on. She had been looking over the top watching everything that had been going on and waiting for me to come up.

“He was looking up our skirts miss” interjected Pinky before I could recover from the shock and think of anything to say.

“Oh was he now” said Kim, “well we’ll see about that.” Then, while still clutching my ear and pulling me forward, she gave me a really hard slap on both of my butt cheeks with her hand, one after the other. I couldn’t believe it. I had never been spanked on the butt before and could not believe how much a couple of slaps would sting .The heat was already building into something quite painful and, due to the thinness and tightness of my shorts, I became suddenly self conscious of my butt, and the erection that was growing at the front all the time. It seemed to have become stimulated even more I was beginning to feel quite humiliated in front of all those girls.

“Well, if he wants to come up here with the girls, then we had better let him up here with the girls. And if he wants to look at the girls then we had better let them look at him” This was said as she led me, still by the ear, down the centre of the bus to the very front. The guides were thrilled at this. There was a buzz of nervous excitement, young tittering and giggles. I, on the other hand, felt totally humiliated.

“Now turn around, face the bus and, with your hands on your head, you can spend the entire journey like that. Don’t you dare move, keep those hands on your head”. I was absolutely devastated; I was praying that no one had noticed the swelling lump of my cock.

“I’ve a good mind to make you take those shorts down as well and make you stand there with that ridiculous thing sticking out in front; but we’ve some young minds here that I don’t want to corrupt.”

Kim had obviously noticed my erection and was drawing it to the attention of everyone. The humiliation was almost too much to bear. The blush was rising to my face. I could not look anyone in the eye, so I just stood there, head down, with the heat in my butt stinging like mad just desperate for a good rubbing; and with a massive, throbbing penis in the front of my shorts also desperate for a good rubbing.

The girls noticed it as well. There was one near the front, still within the field of my downcast vision, who could not take her eyes of it. She just sat there for the whole journey, with eyes gleaming, staring at the front of my shorts, biting her lower lip and, with her hands between her lap, opening and closing her legs and rubbing her knees together. If there was one guide there in that state, then there must have been many.

After a while, Kim must have gone downstairs for, the next thing, Pinky was next to me, showing off and taunting me.

“Has the naughty boy got a sore botty then?” She started tapping my butt.

“I’ll bet there’s a big sore red hand print there” The girls started giggling their encouragement.

Then she started pinching my cheeks. “Does this hurt?” then on the other side with a bigger handful of flesh. “What about this?”

Then she took hold of the front of my shorts and started pulling the legs as though to straighten the folds, putting her fingers far too high up the inside of my leg for comfort and I could not do a thing to stop her.

”Oh dear, you’ve got a big lump in your trousers that doesn’t seem to want to go down.”

I half expected her to start flattening the bulge with her hand and thought that I would die of embarrassment if she did or at the very worst come in my shorts. Not in front of the girls, I thought, and not while I’m wearing khaki, it will cause a dark wet patch and it will be so obvious where it comes from.

“Oh no” I said. “Please don’t touch me there. I’ll never live this down. Please don’t touch whatever you do”.

This rung a hilarious outburst from the guides, so much so that it must have bought Kim back up to the top deck, for Pinky hastily started back to her seat; but not before she whispered:

“I can’t wait to tell the sea-scouts about this, they’ll just love it”.

I was mortified.

So, how I managed to survive the journey for nearly two hours I don’t know. My arms were almost drained of blood from being held head high for so long; but by the time we reached our destination, thankfully, the sting in my butt had almost subsided and, with it, my erection.

Finally we were there.

There was a lot of commotion when the bus finally stopped and parked. All the girls were getting up, putting things away in their bags, straightening their hair and their uniforms, that sort of thing.

Kim started to organise them into twos for an orderly disembarkation and they all, obediently, formed into lines. I made to get going, the scouts had got off first and I wanted to rejoin my troop and give my side of the story before gossip of my predicament got around.

“Not you, boy” shouted Kim. I hated being called boy, especially from someone just a few years older than me. “Where do you think you’re going? I want a word with you before you get off this bus.”

So I waited, wondering what was going to happen next. It seemed like ages that I was alone up there. Kim had gone down with her brood, no doubt to keep order and organise them further. The bus had emptied long ago when, eventually, I heard her steps on the stairs. At the top she paused, and with her hands on her hips with an expression of, whatever are we going to do with you, she began walking slowly down the full length of the bus. She had the most penetrating of blue eyes and held my gaze as she walked. Her eyes did not falter and I could tell from that look alone that this meant trouble for me.

“So young man”, well at least that was better than boy, “I’ve been speaking to Mr Preston about you and what we should do with you and he agrees with me “, as if he had any choice. “We can not have you going around, like some peeping Tom, looking up girls skirts. That sort of thing is disgusting. So we’ve decided to nip this kind of behaviour in the bud before it gets out of hand. Do you understand what I am saying?”

I nodded.

“Right then; you will report to the scout hut at ten-o-clock precisely tomorrow morning where Mr Preston and I will be waiting, ready to deal with you. You will follow my instructions to the letter. You will be dressed in your regulation scout shorts, in fact the ones you are wearing right now, and a plain white tea-shirt.” She pronounced the “h” in white with an exaggerated delay.

I wondered where this was going, so far, I did not like the sound of it.

“Other than plimsolls, you will not be wearing anything else. I repeat, nothing else, and that includes underpants”.

I really did not like the sound of this at all, my mouth was becoming dry and my heart was racing.

“You remember what the scout motto is, don’t you”

I could not answer.

“The scout motto, quickly boy, this should be on the tip of your tongue all the time?” She was exasperated

“The scout motto is, be prepared. So I want you to prepare yourself my lad, you will prepare yourself for a sound thrashing”.

There, it was out. I somehow knew this was coming. I was horrified and beginning to feel very nervous. She had pronounced “thrashing” with a rolled “r” and emphasised the rash. She was enjoying this I could tell. She was trying to disguise a smirk. Her mouth was tight, but it was there in her eyes. Her lips were moist and she unconsciously licked them.

“Do I make myself clear?”

I could not speak again

“I said, do I make myself clear? Do I have to repeat everything I say?” This was in a raised emphatic voice.

“Yes miss” I squeaked.

Why I called her miss I do not know, but she certainly liked it for the smirk exploded across her face. I had never given her that degree of respect in the past, but somehow, because of the way she was holding my attention with her eyes and the way that she was standing, it just came out like that. It felt like the right thing to say at the time.

“Good. Wow betides you if you do not show up. I, not to mention Mr Preston, would be very disappointed with you if you caused us to waste our time. So you had better be there. Now, off you trot. Do enjoy the rest of your day won’t you?”

The bitch! How could I possibly enjoy the rest of the day in that state? To be perfectly honest, I only remember feelings of anxiety and apprehension from that point on.

All sorts of things were going around in my mind all day. What would it be like to be thrashed, I thought? Would it hurt dreadfully? That slapping she gave me hurt enough and that was only once on each cheek with her hand. I bet they use that damn slipper. I wonder if it will be Tom or Kim that administers it. I think I would prefer if it were just Tom. Admittedly he is probably stronger, although she is a tennis champ; but I do not trust that lady, she enjoys it too much. But there again, that means she will be watching. Will I be able to take it? Will I squirm? Will I cry? I would hate not to be able to take it like a man, especially in front of her. I do not suppose that they would do it on the bare would they? No of course not, that is why I was told not to wear underpants. They want it to hurt to the maximum, but still let me retain some dignity. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

Little did I know at that stage what precisely lay in store for me.

Well, as you can imagine, I hardly slept at all that night, so many things were going around in my mind. Whenever it seemed likely that I would succumb, memories of the initial surprise, then sting of that first slap on my behind from Kim reminded me of what was to come the next day and woke me up again. I tried to convince myself that it was because I had been caught by surprise that it had hurt so much and that tomorrow would be different. I would be ready for it then and able to take it with dignity.

So, without really knowing anything about these things, I started to prepare my mind by visualising what was in store for me. I had read about captured English spies during the war and the way they had been able to withstand torture from the SS by using the power of their minds alone. They were aware that terror was the greatest weapon of the torturer, so they had put themselves mentally into virtual torture chambers prior to being dragged in and this had psychologically advantaged them. This technique had enabled them to become contemptuous instead of terrified.

So I lay there trying to form convincing enough images of myself in the forthcoming situation to overcome my dread. In my mind I was entering the scout hut, this was familiar territory. I saw myself standing there; felt the vulnerability of being without underpants. I knew I had to face my worse fears and those elements of the scenario that worried me the most. The thought of being there with such minimal protection filled me with dread. I reasoned that I must imagine this as close to the reality if I was going to expel my anxiety, I must be now just as I would be then.

So, with this in my mind and clad only in my thin pyjamas, I rolled over onto my stomach and threw back the covers to feel the sensation of cool air on bottom flesh through thin fabric. I could imagine Tom standing there looking stern. He held the plimsoll in both hands and was flexing it. So far so good, I thought, I could do this and I was sure that it would help. I reached down under the bed and brought up one of my own slippers and, with my arm awkwardly behind my back, began tapping it against the skin of my backside, one cheek after the other; but mostly on the right due to the position. I did not do it very hard, but just so that I could familiarise myself with the sensation of smooth rubber against sensitive flesh and try to imagine what it would be like if brought down really hard. This was proving better than I hoped possible and I found I was able to form quite realistic images in my mind to overcome my anxiety.

Now I had to face the demons presented by the thought of being watched by Kim. I pictured her as when she had come back up to the top of the bus and had held me so effectively with that gaze. I saw the deep pools of blue that were her eyes, perfectly almond shaped within the frame of her blonde hair. I noticed their coldness with a hint of a glint and the way that they seemed to penetrate to the very root of my psyche and discover my guiltiest secrets. I suddenly felt very embarrassed and ridiculous lying there mildly spanking myself with my own slipper and this was beginning to deter me.

This is exactly what I must face, I said to myself. What if the English spies had allowed themselves to become intimidated by their captors? What if they had cringed at the sound of heel clicking jackboots? We might have even lost the war. No, this would not do. I must steel myself to continue. So, I must return her stare, I resolved. She will not intimidate me; I am made of much stronger stuff than that. I visualised those deep pools again, focused on the glint in the blue ring around her dark pupils. To keep my concentration going I began hitting myself a bit harder with the rubber sole and a bit faster. I noticed that my butt was getting quite warm by now. My right arm ached from the unnatural position I was in, so I changed hands and began a fresh with the left arm. This enabled me to attack the left buttock with a bit more vigour. I was focussing hard now on the circles of blue, watching the pigmentation of her iris and the coloured flecks within. The mote that was the glint shone coldly, defying me to ignore it. My imagination was becoming totally vivid. There was the steely blue iris with patches of white and more pure white beyond the curve. I was staring at the whole orbit. The pure white became textured, like soft chamois, then the blue white pigmentation became like gingham and the aurora pale blue lace edging. I now realised I was looking at Perky’s pert bottom cheek on her way up the stairs. What is more, I was watching while a size eleven plimsoll came slapping down over and over. Then the other cheek, slap after slap, one after the other. I saw them wobble, saw them flinch. I watched while the bare white flesh on each side became pink and red. “I bet you’ve got a big red handprint there” I heard Pinky taunting me as she had earlier.

I was becoming excited. I was pushing myself down into the mattress, clenching my buttocks as I did, repeatedly, rhythmically, in time with the slaps. The urge was too much for me to resist. Oh I did not think that this was going to happen. So much for the resolve of English spies, I rolled over onto my back and masturbated, urgently and desperately.

Part 2

So the next morning found me outside the scout hut at ten to ten, apprehensive, worried sick and not wanting at all to take the inevitable step through the door. I was in the porch, the very place when, only yesterday I had been contriving my plan for a cheap little thrill, not realising then that the repercussions of my secret urge would be facing me right now.

This is the point of no return, I thought. When I come back out of this door I will be in an entirely different state. My pride will no longer exist, my dignity will be trashed and my bottom will be thrashed, blazing and sore. I will have undergone an entirely new experience. Maybe I will be a better person for it? They say that this kind of treatment can be character building. Certainly others throughout history have been through worse than this, and survived. Look on it as a privilege, I rationalised. Having been through what is in store for me now, I will no longer be afraid of this particular unknown again. This, after all, is the fundamental threat of disciplinarians over a recalcitrant like me. Never again will I need to be submissive to the threat of corporal punishment.

So with this rational fresh in my mind, without any more regard for what lay ahead, I pushed open the door.

“So the worm has returned” were the words of greeting from Kim. “At least you’ve had the decency to arrive on time”.

I hesitated at the door.

“Come on in Robin” said Tom. “Come in and stand just here”.

He pointed to a spot just in front of him on the floor.

I observed the pair of them as I gingerly started my walk to the spot he had indicated.

Tom was relaxed, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Kim was sitting on a high stool, one long leg stretched out in front at an angle from the seat to the floor, the other bent at the knee and supported by her heel resting on the horizontal bar of the stool. She was dressed for a game of tennis in full tennis whites with a short pleated skirt. Had I not had other things on my mind, I would have thought that she looked absolutely stunning. Her long blonde hair was brushed off her face and held in place with a sweatband just below the hairline. Beneath that those cold blue eyes that I recalled from the day before and even more vividly from last night bored into me. That effort to hide a smirk was apparent once more.

I tentatively stepped up to take my place in front of Tom, as I did so Kim nonchalantly uncurled herself from the stool to stand next to him. She was roughly the same height and a good four inches taller than me.

“So, do you know why you’re here?” Tom addressed me sternly.

“Don’t bother answering that, I’ll tell you. You are here because you have been acting like a silly boy. You have been acting in a manner not appropriate to a member of the scouting community and you are a disgrace to your troop. I know the full story. I’ve had a detailed report from Miss Stanton-Granger here about your behaviour yesterday and I must say that I am extremely disappointed with you.”

“It’s not what you think” I started to say, but was immediately interrupted by Kim.

“You know what this is all about. You know how badly behaved you were on the way to the top of the bus yesterday.”

“But miss”, there I was calling her miss again. What was the power that this lady had over me?

“I was not intending to be rude, I was just...”

“Shut up” she interjected forcibly. Clearly I was not permitted to defend myself.

“You had your head right up that girl’s skirt; I saw it with my own eyes”

“Alright, that’s enough” Tom took control. “Look, you are here to be punished, and you are going to be punished severely. I will not have this sort of behaviour from one of my troop. I intend to nip this in the bud before you turn into some dirty little nonce. This is for your own good, those people are scum. Robin you are bright, resourceful and smart; and I can see a good future ahead for you if you will only get some sense and apply yourself in a worthwhile and fulfilling manner. I will not have you going through life shunned and despised by everyone, just for some silly sexual urge”.

His argument seemed reasonable enough. Was this really in my interest though? In whose interest was this I wondered? With hindsight and with the knowledge and experience gained as an adult, I now believe that, had this incident been ignored and put down to adolescent behaviour there and then, my sexual inclinations from then on might have been quite different. As it was, and again now with hindsight, this experience and this experience alone, was the crucial catalyst that combined the unappealing fascination that I had for tender round flesh with the very core of my masculinity. I had not realised the significance then while standing in the scout hut wearing only a tight pair of shorts that were so thin I felt naked, that the events happening to me during the next hour would fashion my thinking, my attitudes and those mental processes that would determine my relationships with the opposite sex for the rest of my life.

I looked at Tom and then to Kim in my immature teenage way trying to analyse what they were thinking. I was looking for a way out I suppose. Could I discern any hint of weakness or compassion there? I was wondering what I might do or say that would change my predicament. Reluctant though I might have been to offer one, would a humble and abject apology let me of the hook?

Tom’s face was fixed and stern, the epitome of masculine resolve. I could only see there the qualities that I admired in him. There was a slight look of reluctance admittedly, one eyebrow some fractions of an inch higher than the other and a slight downward turning at the corners of his mouth; but was that enough of a crack in the armour of his resolve to open his defences? I sensed that the reluctance was only due to his need to do this difficult duty, come-what-may, no matter how distasteful it might be, just for my benefit. I searched his steadfast glare and saw no reprieve.

I found no compassion in Kim either. She matched Tom in terms of determination; but there was certainly no hint of reluctance there. This lady had no doubts at all about the unfortunate duty about to be performed; she was positively relishing it. She stood, confident, knuckles on hips, bust thrust out, chin high and with those eyes looking over her nose at me, this time not even attempting to hide the smirk. Her hips were forward and her legs apart. I had noticed that when Tom had uttered the words “punished severely” her legs had suddenly been brought together and she had compressed her thighs; but now they were opened once more. Her right leg was locked at the knee joint but her left trembled slightly.

“So what are we going to do with him?” She addressed Tom haughtily.

I did not like the “we” bit. Neither did I like her being there at all for that matter. I had rather hoped that this might have been dealt with between just Tom and me.

“Oh I intend to use those tried and tested methods so successful in today’s Navy,” he replied, “corporal punishment. It always has the desired effect on young men that need a hard lesson. I think that a good thrashing should do the job.

“So young man” he turned to me, “I am going to start with a good slippering.”

I knew that the size eleven would get brought out, but was apprehensive about the “start” bit.

“This will be followed by a good dose of the cane across your bare bottom.”

Kim licked her lips.

“Before you leave here this morning my lad, you will be standing in the middle of this hut, touching your toes with your shorts around your ankles in front of Miss Stanton-Granger here, having your naked buttocks soundly whipped with a stout length of flexible rattan cane.”

Kim’s legs sprang together. This time they stayed there and she was pressing her knees together.

Oh boy, I did not expect this. What would the cane feel like? My anxiety started all over again. I felt the blood rise in my neck. My hands were getting clammy. My heart was racing. I tried to say something but could not speak. I could not bear to look at Tom any more I felt so subordinate, so I looked at Kim hoping to find some sympathy. Maybe she would not want to be party to this? Maybe the idea of watching a young man being flogged on his bare bottom would be too much for her to bear?

Not a bit of it. I had never seen her so jubilant or so radiant. She was breathing deeply through her nose, I could see her nostrils expanding and contracting. Her eyes were charged. Instead of the cold stare that had bored down on me before, they were bright and alive. Her lips seemed fuller and redder. For the first time ever I noticed her nipples. She still had her chest thrust out where, at the end of each breast, a fresh acorn was budding. This sight had an effect on my penis.

I had already dated a few girls of my age and, while in the back row of the cinema, had clumsily fumbled behind their backs trying to undo their bras to have a grope without ever knowing what the point of it all was but having been told that that was the thing to do. But now, seeing the hardness develop in those kernels through her sports-bra, I began to fully understand this symptom of female sexual arousal, and this sign was an indication to me of the desires that were now forming in this young woman’s mind. What chance then of a kind word from her on my behalf to lighten the severity of my sentence, driven as she would be by the need, right then, to satisfy whatever carnal lust was moving within her? So I resigned myself to my fate and resolved to take it as stoically as I possibly could.

“Right, let’s get this started then shall we?” Tom said, taking hold of the stool from which Kim had just uncurled herself and moving it more into the centre of the floor.

“Bend yourself over this then my lad, feet on the ground behind you and get right over touching the floor on the other side.”

I did as he asked and immediately felt very vulnerable with my bottom in the air and my face towards the ground.

If I tucked my chin in I could see between the stool’s legs and just about make out what was going on in the room; but only at floor level. Kim had moved around behind me from where she could get a better view of my thinly clad bottom being punished. I could see her white socks and tennis shoes, her legs obviously astride. She seemed quite agitated as one shoe was tapping the floor as though anxious to get things started.

Tom was striding over to the games chest in which I knew the slipper was kept. Then he too came behind me and slightly to my left. Kim had to step back in order to let him past. There was silent tension in the air. Kim’s foot was no longer tapping. I watched a shadow of movement on the floor, a rapid rolling movement like a bowler spinning the ball and then, SPLAT. I felt rubber bend around my right buttock. I was surprised that it did not hurt, not at first.

That’s not so bad, I thought, why was I so worried? No sooner had I thought that however when a tingling sensation started where the rubber had landed and began to build in intensity. At first it felt itchy, and then the itch became hot as though someone had turned on a fire. I wanted to reach behind and give it a rub, but was determined not to react and to just take what was coming. The ache continued to build though and I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I watched another moving shadow on the floor, the bowler reaching the crease, then another SPLAT, this one on the left cheek. I felt the same sensation of an uncontrollable itch somewhere in the background that was creeping to the top of my skin. Another SPLAT as the rubber wrapped around my right buttock again. This time it hurt. The previous prickling was just the beginning I realised. This was going to just build and build. How far would it go I wondered? How many of these would I get? The same SPLAT occurred to my left cheek causing a sharp sting that this time grew almost immediately into a burning heat. Again the right side was smacked adding to the already almost unbearable smart of the ever-growing fire in that cheek.

This continued cheek after cheek, one after the other and all the time the burn was getting more and more intense. I must have taken more than ten to each cheek and I wondered how many more I could take. But I was determined not to show any sign of distress. I was not going to give Kim the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

The unyielding urge to rub my backside was causing an un-natural twist at my waist and I needed to shift my position. But I did not want this to be thought of as an involuntary response, so I brought my hands slowly back from where they had been touching the floor, to grab hold of the crossbar of the stool. This gave me a better angle of view to the rear. I could see Kim’s sport shoes quite clearly. She stood with one toe on top of the other. She must have been standing there knock-kneed. Unfortunately this movement of my arms was interpreted as a sign of discomfort for then Tom remarked, I assumed to Kim,

“I think we’re getting somewhere”.

“Yes, he hasn’t actually been squirming very much has he?” she replied. “I would have expected him to be hopping around like a mad thing by now”.

“Oh that will come” said Tom

Then the haughty little madam commented,

“Well I sincerely hope so. Are you sure that you are smacking him hard enough?”

I would have given anything to see Tom’s face following that remark; but even so I wish that she had not uttered it for I knew then that he would renew with increased vigour.

I was not wrong, I even heard him grunt with the effort as the next few slaps landed.

After a while longer of this kind of torment with me still hanging on for dear life I heard Kim say,

“Is it even warm yet? I want to test it”.

Then I saw her feet approach me from behind and felt her touching my backside. Her hand was cool as she passed it over my blazing cheeks. She touched with a gentle stroking action, almost like a caress. I was very surprised at this intimate contact from her.

“Hmm, I suppose it is a bit warm; but I would expect it to be much hotter than this. Stand up boy”. She was taking control. “I want to see how red you are. Take down your shorts.”

This turn of events I was not ready for. I was feeling exposed and vulnerable enough without becoming naked from the waist down. I stood up though, grateful of the chance to change position and loosen the tight skin covering my buttocks. I turned to Tom seeking some kind of reprieve from this embarrassing demand. There was none, he just nodded his acceptance that I should comply.

“Come on boy, hurry up and get them down.” Kim was impatient, her foot tapping.

So I reluctantly undid the buttons of my fly becoming aware as I did of the state of my penis. Events had caused me to disregard what was going on down there. It was quite erect, I supposed from the earlier sight of Kim’s nipples, but just as likely from the tender touch of her cool hand on my scorched butt. I was not going to allow her to see my stiff cock though, so I turned my back towards her more, bent forward slightly sticking my butt out, and then lowered my shorts. The tightness of their fit caused a smarting to my swollen cheeks as they came down. I was sure that my butt must have been a flaming red colour. I winced as the flesh bounced out and was very glad that Kim could not see my face.

She squatted down so that her face was level and, I assumed, so that she could examine the effect of the spanking at close range.

“Yes quite pink I suppose.” She was very matter of fact, a bit like a trainer examining a thoroughbred, and just like a trainer, she began squeezing and moulding the flesh as though testing the damage to the injured shank of a prize colt. Then she took hold of each mass of muscle in each hand and separated them. She must have been looking at my anus. This was just too much of an indignity for me, I was not about to be treated like an animal, so I turned my hips away to remove the object of her scrutiny from her gaze. She seemed to accept my protest for she then stood up.

“Not red enough”, she exclaimed dismissively, swatting me on the retreating cheek. “I want them to be just like ripe tomatoes. And when he is touching his toes for the cane, I want there to be a throbbing beacon there guiding each stroke. Now pull your shorts up again”.

I pulled them up gladly and stood there feeling devastated.

“I can see that I will have to do this myself.”

What was she planning now I thought? Would Tom allow this change of leadership? She came around to face me and addressed me superciliously waving a finger as she did so.

“You have been a naughty little boy so I am going to deal with you just like a naughty little boy. I am going to put you across my knee and give you a damn good spanking. I am going to spank you hard, fast and for as long as it takes to have you squealing, wriggling and begging for me to stop. Do I make myself clear?”

I could not speak, so just nodded.

“Good! What is more young man, I am going to spank you on your bare bottom, just like the naughty little boy you are”.

My mind became a clash of emotion at this announcement. Part of me was feeling quite excited at this proposed intimacy, while the other was not in the least looking forward to this threatened attention to my already blazing behind.

“So I certainly do not intend to risk getting my clean white skirt soiled”.

I could not believe this. She was removing her pleated tennis skirt.

Without any hesitation she undid the clasps at the side, opened it and calmly stepped out. Then she folded it neatly and laid it down on the seat of the stool where my abdomen had just been pressed. I took a sidewise glance at Tom, in some way to confirm this change of control. The bemused look on his face told me that he could hardly believe it either. He was enjoying it doubtlessly, standing there with one hand in his pocket the other still holding the slipper, gazing at her with the biggest grin I had ever seen and feeling perfectly at ease with the idea of this girl taking over. She stood there, with that same, arrogant, legs astride stance, her hips forward and her bust thrust out. She bored into me again with those cold blue eyes, gestured impatiently with a downward flick of her fingers and crisply said, “Come on, bare bottom, get them off”.

I know that I have spoken about my snippets of observations of young girl’s posteriors and my fumbling in the back rows of cinemas; but I had never before seen a fully matured young woman so scantily clad. My penis was still not recovered from the sight of enlarged nipples and bottom caresses and it sprang to attention, throbbing. Even so, I was so flabbergasted at her command and the way it had been so crisply delivered, that I just undid the buttons of my fly and dropped my shorts to my ankles.

“That a boy” she said, “don’t be shy. Now hands on your head like you so dutifully did for me on the bus yesterday”.

I reluctantly placed my hands on my head. This lifted my short tea shirt to my waist and exposed far more of my abdomen than I felt comfortable about and stood shamefully with my erect organ on obvious display. She disdainfully looked me up and down, her eyes lingering for what seemed like ages on my private parts. Then, as if satisfied with the outcome of her creation, turned smartly about and made off towards the games chest. I watched her white knickers swaying with each stride, the firm buttock muscles rising and falling as she went. She was walking like a catwalk model with one foot in front of the other. Whether this was intentional or because she needed to keep her thighs together I did not know; but it exaggerated the seductive movement and as one globe was raised the other dropped back into place with a delightful bounce. I was already in rapture watching this rhythm of flesh; but when she reached the wooden box that contained all the sports paraphernalia, she stood with her feet together and her toes touching the base of the box, opened the lid and, with absolutely straight legs, bent right over to rummage deep into its contents to find what she was looking for. The exaggerated movement with which she did this suggested that she knew both male’s eyes would be locked onto this vision of her lovely posterior, that she did not care one iota and that it was done solely for their benefits.

My penis throbbed even more and was standing absolutely bolt upright beating with each pump of my heart. She seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time searching the chest, and her delving caused so much hip swaying, knee bending and opening and closing of her legs, that there were not many angles of view of her curvaceous behind that had not been greedily explored by hungry eyes by the time that she stood up. The object of her exhibitionistic exploration was a table tennis bat.

Fixing me with that penetrating stare once more and retaining eye contact all the while, she began her catwalk return to my quivering self, tapping the bat against the palm of her hand as she did. Her face held an enigmatic smile and an expression that I read as, now you’re for it. She took up a position on the stool dropping her lovely soft cheeks upon the folded tennis skirt she had so neatly placed there. She supported her left heal on the top crossbar of the stool. This placed her thigh at right angles to her splendidly upright straight back and parallel with the floor. With her legs apart, the other out in front resting on the floor, and without saying a word for words were not necessary it was so obvious what should be done, she gestured with the single index finger of her left hand to the firm thigh over which I should bend.

I removed my gaze from hers to view the area of my next entrapment. Her thigh looked so smooth and strong. The long tendons of her muscles were pronounced and stretched from the top of her knee to her crotch. It was there that I noticed the mound of her vulva. Her white panties were tight and, through a gap on the side of the outstretched leg, I could see tiny curls of ginger pubic hair peeping through. I realised then that this was where the side of my left hip would be pressed. I also had this image of my erect penis rubbing against the inside of her gorgeously smooth upper thigh. No wonder she did not want to soil her skirt, she knew exactly what effect this would have on the super-charged libido of an adolescent boy and was inviting it. Would I be able to contain myself I wondered? Not only did she intend to punish my sore backside, she wanted to further torment me with her sexuality. If she was expecting me to shoot my load all over her, then how could she complain if I did?

I took my position between her legs facing the silk like limb. Then I very self-consciously bent over placing my erect penis sandwiched between her thigh and my abdomen. Electric shocks pulsed through my body at the contact. Other than my own hand, this was the first time my cock had ever encountered warm flesh and, squashed hard against soft young female skin, the feeling was phenomenal. This degree of intimacy was of no concern to Kim however for, without hesitation, she placed her left arm right around my waist and was able to hike me up further across her leg and down towards the ground on the other side. This she did as if I was a troublesome pet puppy she was lifting over a stile. She brought her hand under my abdomen and, without the slightest fuss, took hold of my cock and removed it from the skin sandwich and pointed it down to the floor. The feel of her hand around its shaft caused further shocks through my body and now, rather than nestling in the warm cocoon of skin, the lower side felt cool from the air around it while the upper side was hard against her inner thigh. My cock was so swollen that the foreskin was stretched back and the very sensitive top tip of the helmet rubbed against her smooth flesh. I knew it would be impossible not to move; but did not fancy the chances of retaining my load with these bolts of electricity running through me if I did.

Following this last change of position my bare bottom was now curved at the precise angle for a really good hard smacking. I could not raise my torso for I was held very firmly by Kim’s left arm around my waist. Her strong right hand held the bat and was offered the perfect target of my naked cheeks. She then hooked her right leg over both of mine and I was trapped, totally powerless. There was absolutely nothing I could do to protect myself in any way and this feeling filled me with dread. She was in no hurry to commence her punishing though and there was much re-adjustment of the positioning so that she could get it just right. She was tapping the bat against my tender skin as she moved her supporting leg this way and that to ensure the target was precisely placed for maximum impact. All the while she kept taunting.

“Now that’s what I like to see, a naughty pink bottom ready for punishment. This naughty bottom is going to be so red hot by the time I’m finished that it will glow. It’s going to be spanked hard, then harder and harder and I’m going to keep on spanking it until I’m absolutely certain that this naughty boy has truly learned his lesson.”

With that she then raised the bat. I could feel the movement, then the tension in her body. She seemed to be mustering enough strength to serve for match point at Wimbledon and then she brought it down to land with an almighty crack.

“YOWL” I let out a cry. I could not help myself it stung so much and was much, much worse than the slipper. My leg kicked out; but was held firmly in place, anchored to the ground by Kim’s powerful brace. A wave of heat, kindled in my buttock, was spreading throughout my entire body. Ripples of pain ran down my leg to my toes. I felt her body tense once more then, like a coiled spring, she let the next one go.

“Ow, ow, ow!” I gasped. Again that wave of burning pain spread from my scorched backside.

“That’s better” Kim was proud of herself. “Some response at last, this is what naughty boys get, and you have been very, very naughty. Haven’t you?”

A rhetorical question I hoped, as I could not answer it. I was desperately trying to come to terms with this new assault on my poor cheeks.

More howls were emitted, one after the other as more slaps occurred. My legs were moving with each spank, my toes sliding along the floor in some parody of a sprinters start. With each slap Kim kept a commentary going in time.

“You’re going………to learn……….that this………….is what………… happens………..to………… naughty……….smutty…….…dirty……. little….. boys………that….. look……up………girl’s……..skirts.

I……will…..not…..tolerate…..such……rudeness…….to……my…..girls”

My bottom was on fire. I was gasping and crying out with each hard slap, my legs were trying to move of their own accord if only they were not held so firmly.

Kim was breathing hard with the effort and momentarily stopped to catch her breath. I felt her place the bat in the small of my back and then she began to stroke my cheeks with the cup of her hand in a circular movement. This moment of respite from the spanking and the feel of her cool hand tenderly stroking my blazing flesh was glorious. I had forgotten about my sexual condition prior to the spanking, but was becoming aware again of my cock beating against the inside of her leg. She continued with this circular caress of each cheek in turn while my member throbbed away. All the time she was mewing with the sounds of female pleasure. This turned me on exquisitely and I too began to express my pleasure in the same way.

“Are you enjoying this young man?” She scolded once again. “I hardly think that is the object of this exercise” She haughtily pronounced. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

I felt her pick up the bat again. After a few practice taps she then proceeded to wallop me as fast and as hard as she could in groups of ten or so slaps to each cheek at a time. I was in agony. The pain just built and built until it was impossible to bear and just kept on building. I was desperate to release myself from her grip; but she had such a hold on me that all I could do was pound the floor with my fists, wriggle my legs and yell at the top of my voice. By this time my legs, instead of swimming the crawl, were working away like a frog. I was amazed at the stamina of this girl as she pounded away without letup for probably more than ten minutes. I kept praying and hoping that she would stop soon. I was imploring,

“Oh stop, please, please, stop. I just cannot take any more. Please, oh please, please stop.”

But it made not the slightest difference.

“That’s better” she kept saying. “This is what happens to naughty boys. You’ll think again before you look up a girl’s skirt now, won’t you? That’s better. This is the sort of response I expect.”

After a while she must have tired for, to my great relief, she momentarily stopped. She was breathing hard taking great gulps of air. I was gasping and shaking with shock. While she was catching her breath she began stroking my poor cheeks, kneading and rolling the flesh.

“That’s what I like to see, a nice red hot bottom, just like I wanted it. A few more though and then I think we’re done.”

It started all over. This time she lifted the leg that was supporting me in time with the downward movement of the bat so that it struck with more force. It also caused her inner thigh to rub rhythmically against the tip of my penis sending sparks of pleasure through my body to combine with those of utter and desperate pain. I was in danger of coming but was also filled with a great sense of injustice and felt tears in my eyes. Soon, despite myself, I was blubbering like a baby. I was howling, wriggling, pounding and begging for an end to it, while all the time I was desperate that I was about to come.

But I would not loose my sperm to her I was determined, and hung on. Eventually the spanking stopped.

I was exhausted, lying limply across her lap like a wet cloth. I did not know what to do with myself I was in such pain. It filled every fibre of my body and came over me in waves.

“Right up you get” said Kim “over to that wall with you. You can stay facing the corner, standing up straight with your hands on your head for a while to reflect on your bad behaviour and the outcome for all naughty boys”.

I could not wait to get away and virtually ran to the corner. At first I felt very silly and embarrassed standing there with tears streaming down my face and with my blazing red bottom on view. My shoulders were moving with the efforts of my sobbing and, with my hands on my head; I could not wipe my tears so they ran unimpeded down my face adding to my wretchedness. After a while though I recovered; the tears subsided and I was left with a throbbing backside.

During this period of recovery I heard Kim and Tom totally unsympathetic to my distress, talking behind me in the background. At first they were discussing my treatment. Tom was congratulating Kim on the way she had been able to reduce me to tears and on her ability, strength and stamina with the bat. He was admiring her body and her prowess, comparing her to an Amazon. She was being very sweet to him and calling him Thomas. At one point I heard the distinctive sounds of mouth sucking on mouth and I was sure that they were kissing. I also heard Kim murmuring and purring as she had been earlier while stroking my butt. The thought of these two enjoying each other while I was suffering so badly annoyed me immensely. I knew from the way I had been treated that Kim was in high state of sexuality; but this display of affection behind me was totally out of order. What is more, I thought, they must have been embracing while Kim was barely clothed. I imagined Tom fondling those luscious cheeks and her moaning with pleasure at his touch.

Later, while discussing my further treatment, Kim expressed an interested in the canes that Tom was going to use. He spoke with authority of their origins, their construction and the way to use them to get maximum effect.

“Why do you keep them in water?” she was saying.

“Well, even though they appear to have a hard surface,” he was saying “they are in fact porous and will absorb the water through capillary action. This will make them heavier, more flexible and they will sting more.” Tom answered knowledgeably.

“So they will hurt him more?” Kim was fascinated by it all.

“Oh you can be sure of that; the canes are from the rattan grasses of the Far East; Burma mostly. I picked them up while I was out there with the Navy. This one, you will see, is slightly enlarged at one end. This was a young sapling when it was cut and that end would have been the root; but you can understand what a splendid handle it makes. The knuckle on the tip ensures it comes down with a nice meaty thwack. Rattan is very supple and does not have the very hard knuckles associated with bamboo so, although it stings like billy-oh, it is quite humane and it will not usually break the skin.”

“Are they all different lengths” enquired Kim?

“Usually they are. The longer ones will fall faster, so the severity you wish to inflict can vary depending on their length” replied Tom. “Accuracy is of paramount importance of course as you would not want to administer a hard stroke near the kidney area. This thin one is quite light and very flexible. The heavier ones bruise more, but the thinner ones sting. I will use this one first, probably in groups of six or eight strokes in fast succession from each side to warm him up. I would think that four groups administered in such a way will get him jumping quite satisfactorily.”

Kim was enthusiastic about the image of me “jumping satisfactorily” and chuckled nervously, then continued.

“What about this one, it’s a much darker colour than the rest?”

“Ah, that one is my favourite Malacca. This type of cane is generally used as a riding crop, as well as for judicial purposes of course. They are baked to become hard, hence the dark colour, and are much smoother and heavier than the rattan, so it means that they hurt much more with very little force. You can be very precise where you place the strokes, so I will use this one at the end to cover those areas that require a bit more attention.”

Then, very much to my surprise, I heard Kim say almost in a whisper, “Thomas, would you do something for me? I feel that I need to know exactly what it feels like. Would you give me six strokes from each side with that thin one?”

“Certainly Kimberly” Tom keenly replied, “it would give me much pleasure; but you would need to touch your toes, and stay in that position without rubbing that lovely bottom of yours until I gave you permission. Do you think you could do that throughout the entire punishment?”

Did I hear that right? Kim was asking to be caned as well? What on earth is she doing, does she not realize that it is going to hurt? It is perfectly clear that she wants me to suffer; but does that desire go so far that she needs to experience it herself just to know how much I am suffering? These questions went through my mind. I was determined though, that if she was going to bend over and get whacked as well, I needed to see it. I could not let an opportunity like this pass. But how could I possibly get a glimpse of this display standing as I was facing the wall? I dared not turn around.

On the side of the scout hut where I was standing there were some windows a little way to my left. I was still hopping about like a jumping bean from the pain in my backside and I estimated that, if I was to pretend a sudden urge of involuntary shuddering, I might just be able to get a view in the reflection of one of the windows at about three hops away. Kim would be attracting the total attention of Tom I reasoned, so I might just be able to pull this off. So I increased my murmurings and hopped my way to the left with exaggerated movements towards the windows.

The reflected image I had was not very clear; but I was able to make out Kim’s bent forward position with Tom using the excuse of adjusting her to touch her back, her shoulders and her waist. She had her legs slightly apart with her hands grasping her shins just above her white socks and her head was up, facing forward. She could have easily seen me; but I think she was probably too anxious of her forthcoming experience or more intent on getting maximum attention from Tom to worry about my antics.

I watched as Tom selected a cane from an urn that I had not noticed before and swish it through the air a few times. Droplets of water fell off and I was horrified at the sound it made. I noticed Kim flinch a little, just at the noise. Then he took up his position, he made a few practice swings to take aim, then I saw his arm lift high into the air and, with very fast swishing movements as though he was fly fishing, he brought it down six times across Kim’s upturned butt. She shot up, grasping and rubbing her rear end while hopping about on one spot.

“Yow, ow, wow, God almighty, gee wiz!” she exclaimed while rubbing furiously at her butt. “Oh that really stings”.

“Come on young lady get back down. I did not say you could get up. You’ve got another six to come yet” ordered Tom.

“Oh do I have to?” pleaded Kim.

“Yes, this is good discipline my girl. It’s what it is all about. You need to push yourself to take whatever is due, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. And if you get up this time without permission, I’ll make you take another six”

I watched as Kim got back into position, not believing what I was seeing and with very mixed emotions. I was really enjoying that she was getting a taste of the same medicine; but terrified at the thought that it was my turn next.

Again Tom took up position, this time from the other side. Again I watched as he took aim like a fly fisherman with his rod high in the air.

Thwack, thwack, thwack; thwack, thwack, thwack. She almost stood upright again, but forced herself back and bent there panting. Her legs were buckling and bending at the knee while she gasped and sucked in deep gulps of breath.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh my God,” she was blaspheming and trying to gain some control over her impulses.

“Good” said Tom, “good, well done. Now you can get up. What do you think of that then?”

“Gosh that really hurts.” Kim panted between gasps. “How many of these are you going to give him?”

“Well you took it really well after the initial shock; but I doubt if he will, not on top of what he’s already had. So probably two or three groups of six from each side will do the trick I should think. It depends on how well he is able to control himself. The same rule will apply to him; if he gets up without permission then the group will not count.”

Oh boy, I did not like the sound of that. It was one thing to be thrashed, but to have to submit to it as well, was not something I was sure I had the will power to do.

“Have I got some red marks down there?” Kim was now asking while trying to look over her shoulder and pulling up the leg of her knickers. Tom then began examining the skin of her buttocks at close range while she pulled at the covering material to expose her punished flesh.

“Yes some lovely red welts developing here and here on this side,” Tom was admiring his handy work. “You’ll have to be careful when you play tennis this afternoon that no one notices.”

“I had not thought of that.” Kim said, “I wonder what people would think if they did notice? Probably just that I had been a naughty girl. Well let them think.” She shrugged it off now totally composed and becoming her old self again.

“Actually I think I have been a very naughty girl indeed lately,” she then continued coyly, “so I think I must deserve two really hard strokes with that second cane you showed me, the one with the tip at the end. And I think that I should have to take these across my bare bottom.”

She was acting like a little girl again suddenly. Her voice and total demeanour had changed. Gone was the strong willed character that I had become used to, she was submissive and almost playful now. Was this the effect of a caning I wondered? In which case what would I be like at the end of all this, a quivering wreck no doubt? Is that why the cane is so popular an instrument of correction in schools I wondered, because it renders the recalcitrant passive and submissive? Now she wants more, and on the bare, why?

Back then I had no idea there were those that gained pleasure from pain. This whole concept was very strange to me and I could not understand why she was pretending to deserve punishment. Undoubtedly she was in a state of very high sexual arousal, that was obvious from the way she had been treating me, her moaning with pleasure, her earlier embrace with Tom and her hard nipples; but I had, vainly, put that down to her seeing me naked with an erect penis. I too had been, and incidentally was still, in the same kind of condition; but I would not have attributed that to being on the receiving end of a painful spanking. No, my predicament was due to the sight of semi naked athletic women with hard nipples and sexily swaying bottom cheeks, I thought, and my penis having contact with soft female flesh for the first time in my life. So, was this sexual gratification she was seeking I wondered?

I was really enjoying it that Kim was getting caned but, at the same time, was resenting the fact that she appeared to be enjoying it. Now that she was going to have to take her knickers down as well, I really wanted to be there up close watching as the rod landed across those luscious, naked cheeks. I also knew though that this would be impossible.

I resumed my gaze of the imperfect reflection and awaited the show.

Kim had removed her knickers. Not just pulled them down, but actually taken them off. She was placing them on the stool with her skirt. Tom was selecting the Burmese rattan from the urn. Then they both collected where they had previously stood. Tom was looking theatrically stern, flexing the rod. Kim was semi-naked, demure and searching his eyes.

“Bend over young lady and touch your toes” Tom ordered. Kim obeyed. What I would have given to have been standing behind her. Then I saw Tom take a solid stance to her left. He took his aim with a strong arm and adjusted his position. Then I heard the most frightening sound that filled me with dread, an angry whoosh followed by a resounding thwack as the cane came to an abrupt trembling stop against her bare flesh.

“Oh jeez” exclaimed Kim as she began to pant; endeavouring to keep her position.

Tom took aim again, this time his arm was drawn higher. I heard that angry sound again as the cane arced through the air and came down crisply against Kim’s upturned bare cheeks.

“Oh! Oh! Ah! Oh my giddy aunt” she uttered between gasps.

“Stay down young lady” commanded Tom abruptly, “absorb the pain and continue to remain in that position until I allow you to get up.”

Kim’s legs were trembling; her knees were bending, first together then one after the other as she tried to endure the pain. This dance continued for some time while she hobbled about slowly coming to terms with the agony that gripped her. She gasped and panted until, eventually, she became more at ease.

“Ok, you may now stand up” authorised Tom.

As soon as she was up, her hands shot around to her bottom which she rubbed vigorously while still hopping around and stamping her feet.

“Oh, oh, oh, that really hurt” she was saying. “That was amazing. I had no idea something could hurt so much.”

“Nasty little devil isn’t she?” said Tom, I assumed, referring to the cane. “You wouldn’t want to receive too many from this little beast.”

“No, but please, oh please I just want a few more?”

What? She was asking for more.

“Well if you insist, certainly my dear. You must have been a very naughty girl indeed then?” quizzed Tom.

“Oh I have. I have been wicked. I need two more, really hard, just to make absolutely sure that I am not wicked again”

She was begging, breathlessly; I could not believe it. What was this desire she had for being punished?

Down she went again to grasp her ankles above her little white socks. Tom resumed his position but this time took a step further back and slightly forward. His legs were astride and he formed a very solid figure with his feet firmly planted. He brought his arm back way above his head and slowly brought it down to take aim with an experimental shot.

Satisfied that it would drive home with maximum impact, he drew the cane back above his head again and, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the effort he was going to use, brought it down with all his strength and body weight behind it. Like a lightning flash the cane whipped through the air with a cruel howl.

“Yow, ow, ow, oh my God,” Kim gasped with all her might. She doubled over at the knee crawling on the floor with her hands clutching her rear and nursing her punished cheeks.

“Oh that’s enough, no more please” she implored.

“Get back into position girl” Tom demanded. “You asked for two more, so another is due.”

“Oh sir, please” She was calling him sir now. Where did Thomas go? “I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve not had enough until I decide. Now get back into position. You’ll get one extra for that, so woe betides you if you move out of position again without permission.” Tom was being very forceful; he clearly had the bit between his teeth and was determined to see this through to his satisfaction and regain control of the proceedings. Kim demurely obeyed with a whimper and stuck her bottom into the air again. I was enjoying this immensely.

Once again he took up a rock like stance; once more he took aim. The cane was brought back from behind his head and with a horrifying whirr it cracked firmly down hard upon her naked bottom. She gasped and began to sob. I could see that her legs were trembling and her hands had become fists that she was moving through the air as though playing the maracas. It must have taken an almighty effort but, somehow, she managed to remain bent over, sucking and blowing as if in labour.

“One more to go then young lady; brace yourself”

I watched while Tom took careful aim for the next stroke, this time, although he started the swing as before from behind his head, the arc it defined went much lower and it seemed to strike upwards connecting with the sensitive skin to the overhang of her meaty cheeks. It made a different sound. Rather than landing with a resounding crack, all the force seemed to have been totally absorbed by the fleshiness of this part of her anatomy causing a loud whop sound followed by a gusty yowl from Kim. There was no hesitation, no attempt to absorb the pain, no hint of discipline and no doubting the effectiveness of this stroke. She could not hold herself and sprung up like a bow released.

“Oh my God, oh jeez, oh no more please. Please that is quite enough thank you very, very much, oh God that hurt” This was said as she jumped about the floor with both hands clutching and squeezing at her sore bottom.

“By rights you should be due one more for that display young lady” Tom countered; “in fact I am going to insist. You’ve already had five and I’m sure that you’ve heard of six of the best, so now you can experience what many a public schoolboy dreads. Bend over girl and touch your toes for the sixth of the best.”

“Oh no please sir, no more. I have had enough, honestly I have. I can take no more.” Kim implored.

“Now come on, you remember what I said about discipline” Tom insisted kindly but firmly.” Prove to me that you can do this”.

With that Kim resumed the position and obediently stuck out her bottom.

The sixth stroke was delivered with the same force and accuracy as the others. It had Kim sprawled on the floor on all fours clutching, rubbing and gasping. Tom was exasperated.

“That is not what I would call self-discipline; but I can see that you have had enough, so that will do. If it were that wretch currently standing in the corner though, I would not hesitate to make him get down for another.”

I am not sure if this was said to terrify me or to amuse Kim; but the effect was true of both. I suddenly became very anxious of what was in store and felt a surge of adrenalin at the prospect; but Kim brightened up. Her recovery was amazing.

“So how many strokes do you intend to give him?” She said perkily.

“Twelve strokes apiece with both of those canes I showed you; but it will be more. He certainly won’t be able to stay down for all of them.”

“Or sit down for a while either” she mused, “twenty four strokes, wow!” Kim was shocked. “Gosh that will really hurt”. She was nearly her old self again. “Still, it’s exactly what he deserves. You will make them hurt as much as they did me won’t you?”

“Oh rest assured you need have no doubt about that.” was Tom’s reply.

“Look, I have to leave the room for a while. Are you alright? Would you like me to get you some water or anything?”

I wondered why Tom had to leave the room, probably to jerk off I thought. I certainly needed to after all that and, had I been in his position would have surely been running from the room with my cock in my hand. To have been able to reduce that haughty, toffee nosed madam to the submissive level of a sobbing, imploring child, would easily have turned me to such drastic levels. And to have been able to see in detail the rod whipping down and biting into her unprotected flesh, instead of the vague reflection I had from the window, would have had me shooting my load a long time ago. Instead I just had to endure this phenomenal erection without any relief.

“No, I’m fine, just a bit sore. I’ll get over it.” Kim continued. “To be perfectly honest Thomas, it was an amazing experience. I have never felt so, um, well, alive I suppose and really proud of myself for having been able to endure it”

“That’s one of the effects of corporal punishment my dear, as well as feeling contrite and repentant, one also feels fulfilled by the experience. No wonder it has been used throughout history for its positive affect. Now, get yourself dressed again properly, I am going to leave our recalcitrant here in your capable charge. I won’t be long. Just be sure that he is still standing there when I get back and prepared for what is next in store for him”. With that Tom turned and marched swiftly from the hut.

I had to get back away from the window. I did not want Kim to find out I had been watching her. I took one last glance at the reflection to see her pulling her knickers up, wincing as the tight material past over her swollen cheeks, and then quickly hopped back to where I had first stood. I was demurely standing there, innocent expression on my face, when she sidled up to me totally unaware that I had just been a witness to her lewd display of pain.

She took a rough hold of the skin around my ear, pulled it towards her mouth and stage whispered loudly into it.

“Believe me, those canes really sting. Soon you are going to be on the receiving end and you will be hopping about and yelping like a little dog. And, do you know something? I am really going to enjoy watching you.”

My cock began to throb again.

“You are going to yell and scream, jump about and beg to be let off; but you will have to endure every single vicious stroke that Mr Preston decides to give you. And when it is over, your bottom is going to be so very, very sore, red and decorated with some lovely purple stripes, just like these.”

She was taunting me unmercifully; but then delivered the coup de grass. She let go of my ear, bent over in front of me with her butt in full view, lifted her skirt and pulled down her knickers exposing her naked posterior.

What a site. Twelve thin deep red stripes, six from each side criss-crossed her cheeks diagonally like a sergeant’s insignia. Over those, an additional six parallel crimson welts, finger wide, with purple tips lividly illustrated the effect of the Burmese rattan and the pain she must have endured to receive them. I feasted my eyes on the soft chamois of her bare skin and the cruelty of this display etched upon it. My cock was throbbing and becoming rampant at the site of her plump white skin and the livid marks displayed before me.

She was in no rush to deny me this vision however and remained bent over proudly presenting her punished posterior to my gaze. She was looking over her shoulder gazing at me, her focus drawn between my wide eyes and the stiff cock that was pulsing below as if to confirm the effect of her seduction and, when she was satisfied that I was sufficiently excited, she sidled up to me again.

“What do you think of that then little boy?” She was standing very close to me pushing her breasts into my side. “Can you imagine what it will be like when those vicious canes whip down and bite into your tender bare bottom flesh?”

She started stroking and squeezing my butt cheeks again. I was getting desperately excited now. She had cupped her hand and was fondling the underneath of the globe, testing the weight of each one.

“You are going to have to bend over and submissively offer this tight little bottom of yours to the sting of those nasty canes, stroke after stroke after viscous stroke and you won’t be allowed up.”

With her other hand she then tightly grabbed hold of my stiff cock, closing her fingers around it. An electric shock surged through my body and I gasped out loud.

“Even when you are crying and begging for mercy, you will still not be allowed up; otherwise it will just have to start all over again.” She said this tauntingly watching my face for reaction. I was determined and steadfastly refused to allow her any glimpse of emotion.

Then, while still squeezing my cock tightly, she brought her thumb up to the tip. The foreskin was stretched back tight so I was not surprised when she found some lubrication there. She began to wind her thumb around and around over the head, sending further waves of electricity pulsating through my limbs.

“Over and over the strokes will land, each one hotter than the one before, and when you reach the limit of all that you can bear, it will just keep on going.” This was in rhythm with the circular movement of her thumb. I was absolutely desperate to come. She sensed this and, just in time, gave one last squeeze and abruptly stopped. My climax was left hanging there. I stood, with my hands on my head, naked from the waist down, my knees knocking, my backside throbbing, my cock pulsing with the tip about to burst, feeling absolutely wretched. She chuckled, gave me a hard slap on the butt that rekindled the embers of fire still burning there, turned her back and walked away.

A while later I heard Tom return.

“So let’s get this over and done with shall we?” My apprehension grew. “Come here Robin, it’s time to conclude your punishment with a good dose of the cane. Stand here where we can both see you.”

My cock was still standing upright and I did not want him to see it, so I ambled over with my hands joined in front covering it.

“Not like that boy, go back and start again” he barked. “I want a good brisk march this time, head up, chest out, that’s the way, arms swinging at your side, left, right, left, right, smartly now”.

I arrived at the spot with a double stamp. I was standing to attention, along with my cock, quite prepared to brazen it out. If Tom noticed the state of my organ he did not remark on it; but Kim was smirking, happy in the knowledge that it was through her coaxing that it stood as upright as it did. I was lectured on behaviour, the need for self-discipline, respect for others and what was expected of me as a member of the scouting fraternity. All the while I just wanted to get on with it and have it over and done with. I was told of the position I would be called upon to adopt, that I must not move without permission and that, to do so, would render me subject to further punishment. Then I heard those dreaded words, “Bend over and touch your toes”.

My apprehension was overpowering as I stooped there with my head between my knees and my fingers hovering over the toes of my plimsolls. I was trying to keep my legs straight but they were trembling so much that the only way I could was to lock my knees. This stretched my ham strings and I wondered how long I would be able to stay like that. I felt particularly vulnerable as my tea shirt had made its way up my back and was hanging around my shoulders, I was totally naked from where it stopped to my ankles and my poor sore bottom was presented high in the air awaiting the first strokes.

Tom retrieved the thin flexible cane from the urn and swished it through the air. The noise gripped me with anxiety and apprehension.

The first six stung like a swarm of wasps that had just taken a dislike to this red and swollen beacon glowing there. I managed to stay down, but the urge to jump up and rub like mad was as much as I could bear. Then a different hive of wasps attacked from the other side. I gritted my teeth, puffed and panted a bit, but somehow managed to keep my fingers close to my toes. The third group of six were just too much. I wavered somewhere between upright and bent over wondering where the delineation was drawn, but eventually had to succumb and clasped both hands to my punished cheeks and rubbed with fury. Kim quickly came around to the front where she could see my face and stood there entranced and gleaming with delight.

Then I had to take that group again. Tom was unwavering with his requirement that I should stay down or suffer again and remained so throughout the entire punishment. Occasionally, when the line between me standing or stooped was vague, he was spurred on by Kim who, like a little girl thrilled by some magic trick, would shrill, “Oh make him take it again, he must take it again” and all the while she was moving from my behind to watch the strokes landing, to the front to watch the looks of anguish on my face.

I have no idea how many strokes like that I had to endure, eventually though we somehow managed to get through it and I was left shaking, gasping and very close to tears once more. I was granted more time facing the wall to recover. Compassionately though, this time my hands were not ordered placed on my head and I was allowed to rub my sore backside which I did vigorously while hopping about on one foot after the other.

Kim was in rapture: moving my hands out of the way so the she could examine my punished cheeks, enquiring from Tom the detail of what was about to happen next. Then she was trying out the canes for herself, bending them, swishing them through the air and, I expect, imagining what the sting would be like when delivered to my tender skin. She was like a child at a tea party the way she moved excitedly from one thing to the next. Tom was far more serious though and was determined to retain an order of dignity.

He selected the Burmese rattan as his next weapon from the arsenal in the urn. I had seen the effects of this implement in action on Kim and was certainly not looking forward to what was coming. It was decided that, as I had performed so poorly with my self discipline, I should bend over the stool rather than be expected to touch my toes.

Kim expressed her disapproval but was instantly over ruled. To appease her though it was agreed that I should be made to keep my head up so that she could watch my expression during the punishment. This meant though, and this was a directive given by Tom - I suspect he wanted her out of the way if the truth be known - that instead of standing behind me she should take up a position directly in front where she could see my face. Kim seemed disappointed but planted herself there and studiously began to observe the proceedings.

If the thin cane stung like a swarm of wasps, then the Burmese rattan stung like a swarm of hornets. I was grateful of the stool for it enabled me to hang on for grim life. It did not stop me from screaming my lungs out however and, with every gasp, yell or howl from me, Kim’s face would light up with pleasure and she would give a skip of delight. After about the fourth or fifth stroke I noticed that she was standing with her hands joined in front of her. At first they were clasped demurely between her knees, but after a further stroke or two they had worked their way up to beneath the cover of her pleated skirt. Occasionally she would bring one hand out, lick her fingers and then replace it under the pleats. She was also licking her full red lips the whole time and displaying that same keen expression that I had noticed earlier at the time of the peak of her sexuality.

This stage of the punishment continued in fits and starts as I was constantly loosing my hold of the stool, jumping up, howling and rubbing my bottom, which meant that, to the great delight of Kim, I had to take that stroke again; so I have no idea how many were actually delivered. Towards the end though, Kim was so overcome with excitement that she no longer kept her hands discreet but had pulled the leg of her knickers to the side with one hand and was openly masturbating with the other. Tom must have noticed this though and, no doubt, wanted to bring some decorum back into the event by involving her in the delivery.

“Miss Stanton-Granger, if you please. I need you to assist with keeping this wretch still. It’s becoming impossible to administer this punishment with him jumping around like this. They have ways of dealing with this eventuality in the Royal Navy; various positions to adopt that will render the victim helpless. So please follow my instructions. I want you to stand upright just where you are with your legs apart.”

Kim was intrigued and anxious for some fresh stimulus. She stood up straight, put her legs apart in the parody of a sailor standing at ease then saluted to continue the joke. Tom was not amused.

“Now you,” he addressed me with a prod in the small of my back, “get up and stand facing Miss Stanton-Granger.”

I removed myself from the stool, using the opportunity to rub my punished cheeks, and stood in front of Kim.

“Now, with your arms behind your back, bend over placing your head between Miss Stanton-Granger’s legs.” I did as instructed.

“Miss Stanton-Granger, if you will now take hold of his arms and bring them up behind him to his shoulders, he is now powerless to move.”

At first she gripped my head between her knees, but then she relaxed and my head moved up to the soft area between her thighs. I could see the backs of her coltish calves and down to her socks and tennis shoes; but if I closed my eyes I was locked in a muffled world of warmth, softness and feminine smells. I could not hear a thing; my ears were enveloped in the softness of the skin of her inner thigh. The position of my arms behind my back meant that, had I been caused to offer any resistance, Kim could have just yanked them up further and even dislocated them from their sockets. I was not inclined to offer any resistance.

When the punishment resumed it was with a different cane. This was obvious from the absolutely searing pain that it caused. This was so much worse than the previous and I supposed it was Tom’s favourite Malacca that he had been demonstrating earlier. Although I could not hear the noise of it cutting through the air, I was able to anticipate its painful delivery as Kim would get the urge to compress her legs just before it landed and, when it hit, all I could do was howl and pray for it to stop or soon be over.

I kept my eyes closed most of the time; it was comforting for me to loose myself in a dark state of silent semi-consciousness, aware only of the searing heat of my backside, the warm hypnotic smells coming off Kim’s flesh and feeling the soft pressure to my ears. Although this pressure would be increased just before the searing pain suddenly entered my being in a blinding flash of heat, it would be released again at the moment of impact. In my desperate attempt to jump at each stroke I was exerting pressure upwards with my back and with each relaxation of her legs my head went higher until it could go no further. There was softness, warmth and female aroma all around me. When I opened my eyes I could now see the backs of her knees.

I soon became aware of a new sensation, wetness at the back of my neck. At first I thought it was my own perspiration, but I was not sweating anywhere else, so realised that this was coming from that private area between Kim’s legs. After a while, with more painful strokes, screams and desperate twitchings from me, the movement of her legs became more energetic and I could feel them trembling. Rather than release the pressure on my ears at the moment of impact, she clung on even more and even began rolling my head between her thighs. The back of my neck by this time was pressed right up against the crotch of her knickers. The cane strokes were coming hard and fast now, I was lost in my silent world where pain filled my entire being. Kim’s otherwise rigidly straight legs were bending at the knee and I was being pushed further to the floor. I thought my back would break if she continued much further. The strokes were landing every second with increased intensity and a crescendo of pain that was unbearable. The pressure to my ears was crushing my head. As Kim’s leg movement became an uncontrollable spasm, suddenly there was a flood of wetness to my neck, an absolute deluge of warm fragrant liquid poured down. I was pushed right to the ground and the grip to my head and arms collapsed. I was laying there on the floor between Kim’s legs gasping in agony. Her legs were bent right back from the knees and she was on her back also gasping, in ecstasy.

I was in a state of shock, semi-conscious and hardly able to move. I just lay there wrapt in pain. I was aware of Kim breathing in gasps as though she had just finished some feat of athletic endurance. It took quite a while for us both to recover. Tom went to the kitchen while Kim, on wobbly legs, stumbled off to the bathroom. I just lay there shaking, gasping and crying.

“Come on son, your ordeal’s over. Get up and get yourself dressed.” Tom was there with a mug in his hand offering it to me. “I’ve made you some tea; this will soon help you to recover”.

Slowly reality came back to me and I tried to stand. I could hardly get up, but Tom offered his hand and I somehow managed it. I found my shorts and gingerly pulled them on. After a time, and while I was supping from the mug and making my recovery, Kim re-entered. She was as fresh as she had been when I had first arrived. I almost flinched as she came behind me, but she just put her arms around me, gave me a hug then she kissed me on the cheek. She cheerily said, “Anyone for tennis?” and trotted out of the hut.

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(The End)