A Cut Above the Rest

Although I link to a lot of spanking stories, I think this one is “a cut above” (heh) most. Why? Because it has characters with appealing personalities, those characters actually seem to care about each other, the spankings have more-or-less reasonable reasons, and yet when it’s time for a spanking, the job gets done with all due vigor. This excerpt is from Ailsa Learns To Drive, author unknown.

We had barely completed our tale of woe when the telephone rang. Uncle Hugh answered it out in the front hall. He returned five minutes later with a broad grin on his face.

“That was Constable Hawkins,” he announced. “I had to assure him that two young ladies would find sitting uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Particularly the one with the dark hair.”

“Ailsa can’t sit down in comfort as it is,” said the irrepressible Janet. “It was all my fault. I told Ailsa that I couldn’t drive because I had twisted my ankle. So I suggest you cane me just the way you did Ailsa the other day. But you mustn’t beat Ailsa again. She’s far too sore already!”

Uncle Hugh considered this proposal. Then he chuckled.

“Alright, Janet, I’ll fix you up with six of the best if that’s the way you really want it,” he said. “But Ailsa was a party to these misdeeds and Constable Hawkins won’t be happy if she escapes completely. I doubt if I could lay a fresh set of stripes between the present ones, but six with a hairbrush should make sitting distinctly uncomfortable. Meet me in the library at two o’clock.”

Uncle Hugh touched the crown of Janet’s bottom with the cane, and I saw her knuckles turn white as she tightened her hold on the handgrips. Then he swung the cane over his right shoulder and brought it down hard and fast. My own bottom clenched involuntarily.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aooooh!” “Aoooh!” Completely unprepared by any prior experience, Janet screamed and gasped in response to the fiery stinging pain that flooded through her rump. Her head and legs swung up wildly, her buttocks clenched tight in agony. But she clung fiercely to the handgrips and gradually relaxed with her bottom still quivering. I watched in horror as the initially white stripe turned to a flaming red along its edges.

Uncle Hugh raised that dreadful cane again.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!” Janet’s response was part gasp and part suppressed scream, but her legs only kicked slightly. I saw the second stripe, an inch below the first, change to a matching fiery red. Janet crossed her legs at the ankles as she anticipated the next stroke.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!” “Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!”

The next two strokes, delivered at intervals of twenty seconds, brought strangled screams and spasmodically clenching buttocks. I added a churning stomach and trembling limbs to my earlier sympathetic reactions.

Uncle Hugh swung the cane back for the fifth stroke and brought it down really hard and fast to land low down near the crease in Janet’s bottom.

“Whiirrrr!” “Swiiick!” “Aaaooooh!” Janet screamed in agony. Her legs kicked high and her right hand swooped back to briefly claw hard at the fiery pain in her rear. Then she gasped and resumed her clutch on the handgrips, sobbing quietly and continuously. I cringed internally. Watching seemed almost worse than actually being caned.

“Last one!” said Uncle Hugh sweeping the cane up once more.

“Whiirrrr!” “Swiiick!” “Aaaoooooh!” “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” The cane had landed just below the last stroke, right on the most sensitive skin near the crease. Janet’s full-throated scream gave way to loud sobs of sheer agony. Her legs came up, her head and shoulders rose until her body formed an arch resting on her stomach. She pressed both hands hard against her bottom as if she were trying to squeeze it out of existence.

Uncle Hugh waited until this paroxysm subsided. Then he gently helped Janet down from her perch, supporting her in his arms. She continued to clutch desperately at her rump, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and scrubbing her belly hard against Uncle Hugh’s thighs. I felt a brief stab of jealousy when I remembered his reaction when I performed a similar dance.

Uncle Hugh dried Janet’s tears and kissed her firmly. Then he turned her round and sent her back to me. Janet returned in a crouching stumble, hands still clutching her well-caned bottom. The former gay skirt-swinging young lady was entirely missing at that moment. I folded my arms around her in sympathy and comfort.

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