New Mood Pictures Video

Details: 42 minutes; cane (97 + 50 + 50)

Somewhere in a secret basement kidnapped girls are held behind bars like animals. These girls are tortured by the mistress of the mansion. The most brutal bloody caning you have ever seen!

Watch the new Mood Pictures Video

PART 3

We pulled into the driveway. I realized I had maybe five minutes before my spanking would begin.
As we got out of the car, my dad told me to go right to his den and wait for him there. I noticed
that my mom was not yet home. I was glad of that. I was afraid she might decide she would do the
punishing. And I didn’t want that for anything in the world.
Now, I can remember to this day–ten years later–exactly what I was wearing that day. I
had on this short pink dress, white knee socks, and lavender-colored cotton panties. Very soon
that dress would be lifted up and those panties would be pulled down. As I waited in my dad’s
den, I wondered what was happening to Sarah at that moment. I had a pretty good idea, but what
I really wanted was to see it happening. Or at least hear it. Sarah lived next door, so I went to the
window and opened it a bit and listened. Very faintly, coming from the window I knew to be
Sarah’s, I could hear the sounds of Sarah crying accompanied by the sounds of a wooden
hairbrush smacking what I knew from experience to be be very bare, very red, very sore bottom.
I heard my dad moving around, so I closed the window and sat on the couch. He didn’t
come in yet. He was really letting me stew for a while. However, instead of stewing, I was
anticipating and for the first time in my life, I put my hand under my dress on the crotch of my
panties and began to lightly rub myself. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. I was just thinking
about putting my hand under my panties when I heard my dad coming down the hall. I pulled my
hand away, smoothed my dress, and folded my hands in my lap. The door opened and my dad
came in. I was about one minute from being spanked.
I stood up as he sat on the couch. I stood next to his right leg. He sighed and looked very
sad. I started to get really scared, and for the first time began to think about how much this
spanking was going to hurt.

“I don’t think we need to discuss why I’m spanking you, do we Micki? You know pretty
well why I have to do this, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get this over with young lady. Please bend over.”

Slowly, I lay face down across my dad’s lap. I had already taken my shoes off, so now I
pointed my toes and began to dig them into the couch cushion. I pulled a throw pillow up to my
face. Daddy adjusted my position over his lap. He lifted the back of my dress. I could feel my
tummy and my vulva pressing into lap. It felt kind of good. I felt him put his fingers into the
waistband of my panties. Fifteen seconds–maybe. He pulled my panties down.
I was over my dad’s knee, my bottom was bare, and I was about to receive a spanking I
royally deserved and would never forget. No more anticipating. Daddy’s hand smacked down on
my bare bottom, and I jerked my legs up at the knees.
I had never been spanked this hard before in my life. Daddy’s hand practically set my poor
heinie on fire. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty spanks. Daddy spanked first one cheek of my bottom then
the other. I could feel my bottom jiggle each time Daddy’s palm bounced off it. Usually, I could
hold off crying hard for twenty or thirty spanks. But this spanking was very different! I was
sobbing and kicking my feet up and down by the fifteenth spank. And all I could think of was that
I was going to get 300 spanks!

My dad rained fire down on my bottom. Each slap of his palm made me wiggle and dance
on his lap. I cried and cried. At 75 spanks I began to plead for him to stop, but he just kept on
spanking me. I tried shifting from side to side so that he wouldn’t spank the same spots on my
bottom, but it didn’t really matter. As he spanked first my left bottom cheek then my right, he also
moved up and down my bottom. There was not one square inch of my bottom that he did not
spank—over and over and over. And he never said a word, he just kept raising his hand and
smacking it back down on my bare, flaming, bottom. At one point I remember the door to the den
open and I saw my mother look in. She watched for a moment, then quietly closed the door and
left. If I had hoped for a reprieve from her, it was not going to come.
I had never experienced a spanking so severe, so intense, so painful, …….and so exciting!
Around the time Daddy was administering my 200th spank, the sting from my well-punished
bottom was beginning to manifest itself in another sensation on the other side of my anatomy.
Gradually, I became aware of how excited I still was in spite of how much the spanking was
hurting. I cried and sobbed. I wiggled and squirmed on my dad’s lap. Spank after spank smacked
onto my jiggling, burning, stinging bottom cheeks. I kicked my legs up and down. I clenched the
pillow to my face as my tears streaked down and soaked it.
My lower torso was a mass of contradictions. My bottom hurt soooooo much,but around
my front, my vulva felt sooooo good. I could feel both my bottom and my vulva swelling—each
for such different reasons. I so badly wanted Daddy to stop spanking me, but I also wanted so
badly for him to keep spanking me. All of a sudden, the spanking stopped. I had been trying to
count, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t given me all 300 spanks. He rested his hand on the back of
my leg. It felt hot.

“Micki, I will stop spanking you right now, if you can truthfully tell me that the cheating
was not your idea. If you can’t tell that, then the last 50 spanks will be for thinking up this
stupid idea.”

Should I tell him the truth that it was Sarah’s idea? What would happen to Sarah, then?
Did I want to take 50 more spanks or did I want this to end. I thought fast and answered him.

“It unh, unh, unh was unh both our unh, unh idea. We uhn both thought unh of it. I’m
soooooo sorry Daddy unh, unh.”

He never said a word, he just started spanking again. And believe me those last 50 spanks
hurt more than any other spanks I’ve gotten before or since. I truly believed I would not be able to
sit down for a week. When my dad finished the spanking he stood me up and pulled my panties
back up. That hurt—felt like bees had gotten in there! Then he sent me to my room to think about
what I had done and what had happened as a result of what I had done.
I guess I should tell you that it didn’t end there. Two things happened during the next
couple of hours. Once I got to my room, I inspected the spanking damage in front of my mirror—I
bet all kids do that, don’t they! Then I lay down on my bed–on my belly for sure–and cried for a
long time. Contrary to what you might expect, I didn’t do any exploring to satisfy the other
sensation I had been feeling. That was going to happen soon, I can tell you. But it didn’t happen
that night. I was just a bit too sore to roll over on my back to try it.
The other thing that happened was that my mom and dad came into my room about an
hour after the spanking. They told me that my uncle had called. He told them that during Sarah’s
paddling, she had told him that the cheating had been all my idea and that she was not allowed to
be with me or around me until my parents could assure him that I would never be a bad influence
on her again. My dad asked me if it was true. I just burst into tears and repeated what I had told
him earlier. They left me to cry and I swore that I would get even with Sarah somehow, someway,
someday!

Calstar Spanking

Calstar is one of the classic providers of genuine spanking and caning.
In these videos a cute brunette is spanked over the knee, paddled and caned by a strict couple.

Watch all of the Calstar Spanking

Confessions of a Spanking Addict Part II
Anticipation

It’s the anticipation. It always has been I guess. The anticipation of being spanked is what really
does it to me. Even as a child or young teen, knowing that I was going to get it, and then thinking
about what was going to happen to me would make me incredibly excited. As I said before, I
didn’t understand what I was feeling, but I sure as hell enjoyed it. And the longer the anticipation,
the more excited I got. The spankings themselves, even though they hurt something fierce, were
exciting, but it was the anticipation of the event; knowing I was in for a bottom warming; knowing
when it was going to happen; thinking about how it was going to be done; picturing myself in
position over my daddy’s lap, my bottom bared to receive the punishing smack of his hand;
thinking about how many spanks I was going to receive. For me–as a girl, a young teen, and even
now–the anticipation of a spanking was, and still is, the most exciting thing I can think of.
And the longer my anticipation, the more excited I got. In fact, it’s those times when the
anticipation was extended for some long period, that I can remember the most vividly. I already
told you about the one spanking I remember clearly–the one right after my 12th birthday, but
there are several others that really stand out in my mind. One of those spankings took place when I
was about thirteen.
It involved my cousin Sarah. Sarah and I were in the same classes at the middle school. We
were both really good students except in Science. I was barely a B student and Sarah had trouble
getting Cs. So when it came to tests, we both would panic. Now, let me just mention the fact that
it had been about two months since my mom or dad had given me any kind of serious spanking.
Actually, Mom didn’t spank me at all any more. She left that up to my dad. Anyway, it had been
about two months since I had been soundly spanked, and I was itching for one big time. Oh, I had
gotten a few swats on my jeans a couple of times, and my dad had even put me over his knee once
or twice for maybe ten spanks on the seat of my panties. But nothing in the way of a serious fanny
smacking. So, like I said, I was itching for one.
Two other things you should know. First, I was beginning to figure out that the excitement
I felt was centered in a very small part of my anatomy. I still hadn’t figured out what to do about
it, but that was coming soon. Second, my cousin Sarah was an instigator. She had this certain
knack for getting both of us into a whole lot of trouble. Anyway, back to what got me in trouble in
the first place.
One Friday, Mr. Marks, my science teacher, announced that there was going to be a test
on Monday morning. Groans and moans about the weekend were lost on him, as he proceeded to
tell us what was going to be on the test. Class ended, School ended for the week, and Sarah and I
got on the bus for home. On the way home we talked about boys–our favorite topic, plans for the
weekend, and the need to study for the science test. Sarah told me she wasn’t planning to study.
She told me she had figured out how to pass without studying–she was going to make a cheat
sheet!

“Sarah! You can’t do that! What if you get caught!?”

“But I’m not going to get caught. And I’m not going to fail another test either! Look
Michelle, I have to get a good grade. My dad will kill me if I fail another test.”

“Sarah, your dad will kill you if he finds out you cheated.”

“But he’s not noing to find out, is he!? Look, you can’t afford to fail either. Why don’t you
come over tonight, and we’ll make the cheat sheets together?”

“I dunno Sarah. If we get caught, we’re gonna be in an awful lot of trouble.”

Well, to make a long story short, Sarah convinced me to try it, and I went over that night to make
the cheat sheet. It was a good one, too. We made them on computer, then reduced the type size so
that we could still read it, but the paper was real small. The whole time we were doing it though, I
was thinking if we get caught, I am going to get the spanking of my life. And thinking about that
just set my heart to pounding.
Monday came and so did the test. Sarah and I had prepared the cheat sheets well. I had
every answer on the test. The period ended and we started out of class–until Mr. Marks called us
back.

“Sarah and Michelle, could I see the two of you for a moment, please?”

What could he want, I thought. We walked over to his desk. He sat there, just looking at the two
of us. He was holding our tests. Each one had a big red zero on the top!

“Would the two of you like to hand over those cheat sheets now, or do you want to wait
until we go down to the principal’s office?”

My heart sank to my knees. On the way down, it passed through my tummy and left me with the
sure knowledge that I was in big trouble. I began to anticipate my certain future. Sarah tried to
tough it out.

“What cheat sheets? Why do you think we were cheating?”

“Well, gee, Sarah, I don’t know. Maybe because I watched the two of you use them all
period. Come on girls, you’ve got to get better at this if you’re going to try to fool me.”

With that he flipped open each of our science books that were laying on his desk and there lay the
incriminating evidence.

“So, girls, how do you want to play this? Gonna confess and take your lumps, or are you
going to continue to try to tough it out?”

We both just stood there staring at our feet. I honestly thought I was going to start crying. Sarah
did.

“Please Mr. Marks, don’t tell my parents! They’ll kill me!”

“Well, Sarah, I doubt very much that they’ll kill you. But I do have to tell them, and I am
sure there will be some severe consequences. Let’s go down to the office now, please. I
want to call your parents. They’ll have to come pick the two of you up.”

Anticipation! I was scared to death. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweating.
And that old familiar tingling was starting down there below my tummy. Mr. Marks stood up and
escorted us to the door. All the way down the hallway to the office, Sarah kept sniffling and
pleading for Mr. Marks not to call her parents. Funny, she only seemed concerned with herself at
that point. I, on the other hand, was beginning to picture my future. I knew it was not going to be
pleasant, but it was something I deserved, needed, and wanted!
Well, we got to the office, and he called our parents. We listened to his side of the
conversations with growing trepidation. Sarah continued to cry. I finally had enough and turned to
her.

“Sarah, knock it off! Your mom and dad aren’t going to kill you! You know that. The
worst that’s going to happen is you’re gonna get spanked. So just knock it off, will you!”

That made things worse. Turns out, my darling cousin knew that was exactly what was going to
happen to her–and worse. Seems my aunt and uncle had an old wooden hairbrush that Sarah was
quite familiar with. Truth be told, however, there was no spanking they could administer with that
hairbrush that could even come close to what my dad could give with just his hand.
Anyway our parents came to the school, and we were each ushered into the principal’s
office for a meeting. Sarah went in first. I could only hear muffled words coming out, but it was
obvious that Sarah was getting chewed out pretty good by her dad. I did however, clearly hear
one thing that Sarah said.

“Noooooo, Dadddeeeeeee! Pleeeeeeeease! I won’t ever do it again! I’m really sorry!
Pleeeeeeease Daddeeeeeee!”

Then there was the sound of shuffling, the door opened, and Sarah and my Uncle came out. He
did not look happy. Sarah looked downright scared and was crying. Uncle John had Sarah by the
hand and lead her out to the car. Then it was my turn. My dad and I went into the principal’s
office. I stared at the floor and listened as Mr. Marks told my Dad what had happened. I watched
in utter dismay as he handed my dad the cheat sheet. I looked at my dad and saw that he didn’t
look angry. He looked very sad. I started to cry.

Then my dad said the words that I knew–and hoped–were coming.

“Well, young lady. You know you’re in a whole lot of trouble don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I think you know what’s going to happen to you when we get home don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Oh, my god! I was just about dying. I could not believe how excited I was at the same time I was
so scared. I was picturing very clearly now what lay in store for me. I almost didn’t hear what my
dad said next.

“Well, then I think it’s only fair that you tell Mr. Marks what is going to happen to you.”

“Daddy, nooo, pleeeease. I don’t want to do that. Please don’t make me.”

“Michelle Elizabeth! This is not a request! You will tell Mr. Marks right now. And then
you will apologize to him for cheating!”

This had not been part of what I was anticipating. Being spanked in the privacy of my own home
was one thing. Having to tell my cute, young, male teacher that I was going to be spanked was
something else entirely. I bit my knuckle, started to cry, and turned to my dad for a reprieve. He
shook his head and motioned for me to tell Mr. Marks.

“NOW, Michelle Elizabeth!”

I jumped at his tone. I turned to Mr. Marks, turned bright red, and said the words that I normally
found so exciting.

“I’m gonna get a spanking. I’msorryMr.MarksIwon’teverdoitagain!”

I wanted the floor to just swallow me. But strangely, I realized I was even more excited than
before. I just could not understand this at all. But, now, all I could think of was getting home, so
that my dad could start spanking me. He took me by the hand and we walked out of the principal’s
office. All the way out to the car and almost all the way home, my dad didn’t say a word to me. It
was a lonnnnnnnng ride home. Actually, it was  a long ride. We lived about ten miles from the
school and it took about 20 minutes to get home. By the time we were about half way home, I was
doing some serious knuckle chewing as well as some serious squirming in my seat. About a mile
from our house, my dad finally spoke.

“I’m very disappointed with you Micki.”

“I’m really sorry, Daddy. Really I am. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

“I believe you, honey, but I am still going to spank you.”

“I know.”

“The question is just how much and how hard I’m going to spank you. What do you think
I should do?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, maybe you should think about it. I want to know what you think you deserve.”

I was dying with excitement, and this was just making it more intense. The anticipation of what
was going to happen to me in the next hour had me squirming with the most intense encitement I
had ever experienced. I thought hard while we were stopped at a light. As we pulled away, I had
made my mind up about what I wanted to say.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Micki?”

“What Sarah and I did was really wrong, so I ….uh…..I……uh…..I guess I deserve to be
spanked really hard for a really long time.”

“I see. Do you think that maybe I should use your mom’s hairbrush this time?”

“I’d rather you use your hand, Daddy. Please.”

“OK, I’ll use my hand. Hmmmm, let’s see. I think the most spanks I’ve ever given you was
about 150. Do you think that’s enough this time?”

My heart was pounding like crazy. All this talk about my impending spanking was making me
more and more excited all the time. For reasons I didn’t then understand, I wanted to put my hand
between my legs and rub myself. I whispered my answer.

“I guess not.”

“I don’t think so either, Micki. In fact, I think maybe this spanking ought to be about
double that.”

Three hundred spanks! I was going to be sore for a week. I whispered again.

“Are you going to do it on my bare bottom?”

“What do you think, Micki? Is that what you deserve?”

“Yes, I guess I do.”

End of Part II

In the Name of Love 2

The follow up to the Mood Pictures  classic, In The Name of Love…about a female love sect, that use extreme corporal punishments to keep their members obedient at all times.

Details: 52 min.; cane (200 strokes), single-tail whip

The Love Sect is in its greatest crisis. Mistress Venus has been arrested and Mistress Luna was killed during the police raid, but fortunately Mistress Terra escaped with a few loyal sect members and reorganized it at a new secret place. The whereabouts of this place is kept much more confidential than before: New entrants are taken there blindfolded, and those who ask to leave… who knows what happens to them…? The sect is devoted to love, but below the surface you will discover jealousy, fear, hate and lots of suffering from the mistresses’ brutality. You will see even more brutal tortures than in the first part…

Watch In The Name of Love 2 at Mood Pictures 

Confessions of a Spanking Addict

I admit it. I’m addicted to spankings. Getting them; not giving them. From the time I was a
little girl, I have always seemed to go out of my way to get myself spanked or paddled by the man in my life. At different times in my life, I have been over the knees of my dad, a cousin two years older than me, and a boyfriend who later became my fiancé and  husband–and who continues to spank me on occasion. I don’t understand my addiction–getting spanked is certainly not a comfortable experience, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Just the thought of receiving a spanking still scares me, but it also excites the hell out of me. I fantasize about being spanked. I dream about it.
When I was a girl and I got spanked I would promise myself I would never earn another,
but then after a few days I’d start thinking about spankings again. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time before I’d end up over someone’s lap getting my bottom warmed. I know that I got spankings when I was really little–from the time that I was I was three or four probably, but they don’t stand out in my mind. Usually, they were given to me by my mom, and they were the usual kind of spanking. I’d do something wrong, my mom would grab me, give me five or six swats on the seat of my pants or my dress and that would be it.
However, about the time I was seven or eight, my dad started giving me spankings when I
did something really bad. And these were different. First of all, there was nothing quick about
them. Second, he always spanked me on my panties or on my bare bottom. And third, there was a
kind of ritual to the event. He always took me to my room. He always closed the windows and
shades. He always put my desk chair in exactly the same place. He always made me stand next to
his right leg while he scolded me and told me why he was going to spank me. And, finally, he
would always unsnap my pants, unzip them, and pull them down to my thighs–never any further,
always right to below my bottom. And if the spanking was going to be on the bare, he always
pulled my panties down so that they were alsojust below my bottom, right at the top of my thighs.
Thinking about these details–even today–is incredibly exciting to me.
But it wasn’t until just after my twelfth birthday, that I realized how much I wanted and
needed my dad to spank me when I was bad. I remember this very clearly. My birthday is on May
20th. My dad had gone out of town on an extended business trip on April 15th. So he was gone
over a month. I remember that I had gotten spanked for something about three days before he left
on business. And it had been a pretty major spanking on my bare bottom. But during the month he
was gone, I hadn’t been spanked at all. Not that I didn’t deserve one, my mom just didn’t give
them anymore. I got yelled at quite a bit, and had been grounded for a week (I hated being
grounded), but my bottom hadn’t been smacked for five weeks.
Toward the end of that time, when I knew my dad was coming home, I remember thinking
about spankings a lot. I remember that I would to go to my room, lock the door so my mom
wouldn’t barge in, and then I would pull the desk chair out and stand next to it thinking about my
dad sitting in the chair getting ready to spank me. I even got to the point of pretending that I was
getting spanking. I would put a pillow on the chair, pull my pants and panties down just the way
my dad did, and then lay across the chair like I was laying across my dad’s lap. A couple of times I
even tried smacking my own bottom, but that didn’t satisfy my need. I also remember what had to
be awakening of my sexual feelings. I would be laying there across the pillow and chair, and I’d be
feeling this incredible excitement between my legs. At the time, I had know idea what it meant or
what to do about it, but I do remember spreading my legs and pushing the pillow up between them
while I rubbed up against it.
By the time my dad got home two days before my birthday, I was thinking about being
spanked with a mixture of emotions. I was scared of being spanked because it hurt a lot, but I was
also excited by the fact that since my dad was home, the next time I got in trouble would probably
mean a spanking for me. My birthday came, and my dad jokingly told me he was going to give me
my birthday spanks. I told him I was too old for that, and then squealed and giggled and kicked
my legs as he tossed me over his lap and gave me twelve swats on the seat of my jeans. When he
let me up, I was blushing and pretending to be embarrased. What I fantasized about was being
taken to my room for the real thing.
I think it was three days after my birthday that I got in trouble. My mom was visiting my
grandmother for a couple of days, so it was just my dad and me.We had gone out to lunch at
McDonald’s and when we got home I went down to Sarah’s house. I told my dad where I was
going and he told me to let him know if I went anywhere else and to be home by five for dinner.
But Sarah had to go out with her mom, so I went to Jessica’s house. At 6:30, Jessica’s mom came
into her room and said, “Michele, your dad just called looking for you. He said you were supposed
to be at Sarah’s and that you were supposed to be home by five. I think you might want to head
on home. Your dad didn’t sound any too pleased.” I jumped up, said good-bye and “thank-you
m’am” and headed out the door for home. All the way home, all I could think of was this is it, I’m
in for it now. The more I thought about what I just knew was going to happen, the more scared–
and excited–I got.
When I got home, my dad was waiting for me in the kitchen. I went into the kitchen and
gave him my best “I’m sorry, Daddy.” I can still hear the conversation that followed.

“Michele, where were you supposed to be?”

“At Sarah’s.”

“When were you supposed to be home.”

“Five o’clock.”

“Where were you and what time is it?”

“Daddy, I’m sorry. I was at Jessica’s and I know I’m late. I’m really sorry.”

“Michele that’s not good enough. Mommy told me that you’ve been doing this a lot lately.
Is that true?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, then, young lady, I guess I’m going to have to punish you. Aren’t  I?”

This was it. I was so excited and scared, I thought I was going to wet my pants.

“I guess so, Daddy.”

“Alright, starting right now you are grounded for two weeks. Go to your room until I call
you for dinner.”

He grounded me! I was devastated. I trudged up to my room and threw myself on my bed and
cried in frustration. I didn’t want to be grounded. I wanted my daddy to spank me.This was awful.
Not only was I not getting what I wanted, but I was grounded for two weeks. I was sooooo upset.
I must have been in my room for over an hour before my dad called me for dinner. When he did, I
trudged back down the stairs and sat at the table for dinner–beef stew. Not one of my favorites. I
finished and sat there staring at my bowl. My dad finally broke the silence.

“Michele, it won’t do any good to be mad at me. You know what you did was wrong.”

“I know.”

“Then you know I had to punish you.”

“I know.”

“Well, if you know, then why the silent treatment?”

“Well, it’s just that, well, I, uhhh, it’s just that…..well, how come you didn’t spank me?
Why did you ground me?”

“Well, Michele, I just kind of thought you might think you were too old for a spanking.”

“oh.”

“Michele?  Look at me honey.”

I looked up from my bowl. I was crying a little.

“Michele, would you rather I spanked you than grounded you?”

“I think so, Daddy.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Obviously, I did know, but I couldn’t tell my dad that when he spanked me I got excited as all get
out. But I had to answer something.

“Well you must have a reason.”

“I guess I’d rather just have my punishment over with than have it last for two weeks.”

That sounded like a logical answer. At least it did to me.

“I see. Even if it means getting spanked with your pants and panties pulled down?”

“Uh, huh.”

“I see. Well, then maybe we ought to go up to your bedroom, then. What do you think?”

My heart was pounding. I had this incredible feeling in my tummy–and someplace else, too. I
couldn’t speak. I just nodded yes. I watched as my dad stood up and held his hand out to
me.Silently I took his hand and stood up. Silently, my dad led me up the stairs to my bedroom.
The hallway seemed to go on forever. What had I gotten myself in for I thought. I’m about to be
spanked, and it’s what I want. But I was still scared. Daddy led me into the bedroom. He closed
the door. He walked over to the window and closed it. Then he closed the shades. Going over to
the desk, he pulled out the chair and sat down.

“OK, honey, come over here, please.”

Silently, I walked over and stood next to my dad’s right leg. I remember I was biting my lower lip.
I waited.

“Michele, are you sure this is what you want?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Do you understand why I’m going to spank you?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Uhhh, is there any reason why I shouldn’t pull your panties down for this spanking?”

I knew this was my dad’s code for “do you have your period?” Ever since I had gotten my  first
period about six months earlier, he had asked this question.

“No.”

My dad reached for my belt buckle. I raised my hands out of the way and kind of chewed on one
knuckle. He undid my belt. Then the snap on my jeans was undone and he pulled the zipper down.
I was getting more and more scared and nervous–and excited. Daddy took hold of the waist of my
jeans and tugged them down over my hips. They were a little tight, so it took a little effort to
wiggle them down over my hips and bottom. I remember looking in the mirror across the room. I
was facing it. I remember I was wearing light blue cotton panties that were about one size too
small. They fit tight across my bottom and bulged slightly with the soft curve of my vulva. My
pants were just at the top of my legs. Daddy hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties
and pulled them down below my bottom. My bottom was bare. I felt his right hand in the middle
of my back as he guided me over his lap.
I was almost in position. Daddy shifted me a little so that my bottom was directly over his
right leg. My toes touched the floor behind me. My hands gripped the rung of my spanking chair. I
was more excited than I had ever been before. My crotch was pressing in just the right way on my
dad’s thigh. I felt him sigh. I felt him raise his right hand. I looked up into the mirror just in time to
see him bring his hand down on my bare bottom. I heard the sharp smack as it connected with the
left cheek of my bottom. Then I felt the sting. It really hurt and I gasped. Again, I watched in the
mirror as he raised his hand and brought it down on my right bottom cheek. This one stung even
more. I stopped watching because tears were starting to fill my eyes. I hung my head down and
just cried with pain–and relief–as my dad spanked me again and again. Ten spanks, twenty, thirty,
forty….my bottom was on fire. I cried and sobbed. I kicked my legs up and down. I wiggled my
bottom from side to side. Fifty spanks, sixty, seventy. The spanking just seemed to go on and on.
Then, about the time I had gotten a hundred spanks, I began to notice that while the spanking was
hurting something fierce, the tingling between my legs was becoming more intense.

[graphic here]

As much as the spanking was hurting, this other feeling was downright pleasureable. I almost
wanted the spanking to go on. But at that point, after about 150 spanks, my dad stopped. I was
sobbing and tears were streaming down my face as my dad lifted me off his lap. Kissing me on the
forehead, he told me to lie down on the bed until I stopped crying. I could come downstairs
whenever I wanted to.
That night I laid on my tummy on the bed for a long time. I rubbed my bottom a lot, and I
thought about the other feelings, but for the time being I just thought about them. Over the next
couple of months and years, I would learn a whole lot more about those feelings. At that moment,
though, I was just a well-spanked little twelve year old with a heinie that practically glowed in the
dark. I promised myself I would never earn another spanking. Riiiiiiight!

End Part 1

A Fair and Just Response – Final Chapter 

“In addition to the caning of Mrs. Winthorp, Mrs. Jessica Fielding will also receive a caning applied without mercy and to the bare. Mrs. Fielding was a co-conspirator in this affair and has agreed to pay the penalty. She shall receive twenty strikes plus an added penalty of twenty for her part in this scandal.” Now was the moment that Mrs. Sinclair dreaded. “Since I have allowed these prefects to get away with submitting false reports, and since I was an accomplice, however unwitting, to Miss Bloom’s public humiliation, I, too, shall receive a caning applied without mercy and to the bare in front of this assembly.” Gasps of astonishment followed this pronouncement. “My sentence is twenty strokes of the cane plus an added penalty of ten, to be applied by the assistant headmistress.” Mrs. Sinclair gritted her teeth. She hated the thought of being forced to bare her backside to her own students, but in order to avoid a lot of legal unpleasantness, she had agreed to do it. She hoped that the Bloom’s received a good show. There was certainly a high enough price being paid. “All sentences, including my own, are to be immediately carried out. Mrs. Wicker, you now have authority over the proceedings.”

Mrs. Wicker stepped onto the floor. She wanted to break down in laughter at the thought of what was to come. When Mrs. Sinclair had informed her of this, she had even offered to go lightly upon the headmistress. “You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Sinclair had said. “If the Bloom’s even suspect that any of this is fakery there will be an immediate filing of suits and I’ll shortly find myself looking for another position. No, you will apply thirty of the best and hardest to my bottom. But make sure that you apply even more force to Sarah Winthorp’s bum when her’s is sticking up in the air.”

Mrs. Wicker ordered all others involved in this to be let into the assembly hall. Mr. and Mrs. Bloom were followed in by Mr. and Mrs. Winthorp and Mr. and Mrs. Fielding (Mrs. Winthorp’s brother-in-law and sister). Mrs. Sinclair tightened her expression when she saw Sarah Winthorp. The catty bitch had been the cause of all of this. She had conspired with her sister to cause the caning of Miss Bloom. Mrs. Fielding had used her position in the phone service to falsify a report to give added weight to the accusations. Mrs. Sinclair knew that Mrs. Fielding had been forced to resign, but it gave her no comfort. Mrs. Wicker ordered all participants to face away from the assembly. When they had, Mrs. Wicker went along and pinned each woman’s and girl’s skirt up so that a large row of panties were now on display. Then she went through the line again and pulled each pair of panties down to the ankles. When that was finished, fifteen bare bottoms were displayed to the entire auditorium.

The most amusing sights were the bottoms of Mrs. Sinclair, Mrs. Winthorp, and Mrs. Fielding. None of these women were past forty-two years of age, so their womanly curves were still quite enticing to the three men in the assembly hall. Mrs. Bloom whispered a stern warning into the ear of her husband which caused him to clear his throat and look away for a time. Mrs. Wicker pulled out a list from her pocket. Mrs. Sinclair had typed it up last night. On it were the names of all involved arranged in an alphabetical order. Mrs. Wicker felt a pang of sorrow for poor Mrs. Sinclair. Her name was fifth from the bottom, so that meant that she would have to stand with hands on head through four canings with her blistered bottom on display to the entire assembly. Mrs. Wicker began as Mrs. Sinclair had dictated. She lectured for twenty long minutes on the importance of honesty in both school and out in the “real world.” She then read off the entire list of names and announced the sentences for each person. All throughout the speech and the calling out, the twelve prefects and the three older women had to stand still with their hands on their heads and display their naked and unpunished bottoms to the entire assembly.

Mrs. Wicker than began the punishments. Three prefects were called before Mrs. Wicker read off the name, Jessica Fielding. The three previous girls were still hopping from one foot to the next in a vain attempt to cool their chastised bare bottoms. Mrs. Wicker took the phrase, “applied without mercy,” to heart. She had delivered vicious strokes to the bared bums of the prefects. Even with only twelve strokes, there were weals that had broken open and were bleeding slightly. Since the girls had to keep their hands on their heads, there was no opportunity to soothe their fiery backsides. That was, of course, the point of remaining in that position. All of them had been sternly warned by Mrs. Wicker that if their hands left the tops of their heads, they would be forced back into position and given their original sentence all over again.

Mrs. Fielding fared much worse than the prefects. The cane was applied with even more force. Mrs. Wicker actually stepped back after every strike so she could step into the next stroke and deliver much more force to the blow. It was obvious by this time to the assembly that classes for the entire day would be canceled because of both the large number being caned and because of the fifteen second wait between each stroke of the cane. It was certainly going to take most of the day to deliver all of the canings.

When Mrs. Wicker applied the fortieth and final stroke to Mrs. Fielding, she had the enormous satisfaction of seeing the bawling woman jump up and down for two minutes before she had calmed sufficiently to take her place in the line of shame. Mrs. Wicker noted with glee that the woman continued to bawl throughout three other canings, but never once did her hands leave the top of her head.

Finally, Mrs. Sinclair heard her name spoken. She took a quick glance at the line of shame. She saw many bruised and bleeding bottoms and felt a lump of fear. She knew that her own bottom would look like that in just a short time. She barely remembered her own canings when she attended grammar school. She was about to receive a sharp refresher in its effects. She walked over to the table with all of the dignity she could muster. It was hard to be dignified when you were showing off your lower anatomy to hundreds of onlookers. She bent over the table and suffered even more humiliation when she felt a cool breeze feather through her legs. She realized that her naked sex was visible to every assembled person. She attempted to squeeze her thighs together as tight as was possible. She suffered another wave of embarrassment as the felt her shoulders being pinned to the table by her very own secretary. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! Mrs. Sinclair let out a yelp at the first blow. She had ordered Mrs. Wicker to do her utmost, but she didn’t expect it to be this painful. She felt a surge of agonizing torment during the fifteen second break. She could actually feel the skin puffing up and forming a hideous weal. She hoped she could take thirty strokes without becoming sick. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! Mrs. Wicker, though she would never admit it to another soul, was thoroughly enjoying this. She had often been given a dressing down by her superior, so this was an unexpected opportunity at revenge. Mrs. Sinclair had told her to lay it on, so she had given her exactly the same type of strokes that she had given Jessica Fielding. She doubted that Mrs. Sinclair would be sitting at her desk for a long time to come. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! Sarah Winthorp had flinched at every stroke of the cane thus far. She knew that, alphabetically, her name was last on the list. She hoped and prayed that Mrs. Wicker would be tired by then. This was even more humiliating than her one previous bare caning. At least back then she hadn’t been a woman of status in the community. She had been forced to agree to this degradation. If she hadn’t, her husband had told her, that he, himself, would cane her bare buttocks every evening for an entire month. Sarah Winthorp knew from experience that her husband wielded a wicked cane, so she chose this embarrassing alternative rather then being subjected to a stiff caning from her husband that would have left her scarred for all eternity. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! Patricia Bloom felt great compassion for Mrs. Sinclair. She hadn’t wanted to punish the headmistress, but Mr. Bloom had blustered and insisted that every person involved would be subjected to the same humiliation that their daughter had endured. It was, in her opinion, a silly requirement and she had made the mistake of voicing her opinion. Her husband had shouted and yelled at the top of his lungs and caused a great scene in front of the household staff. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! Mrs. Sinclair bawled like a schoolgirl. The pain was really more than she could possibly bear. What was even worse was the fact that her husband would see the effects of this tonight and he would add no small amount of jokes about her situation. She would never live this down. If the entire school suddenly acquired collective amnesia of the incident, then she would still have to deal with the lifetime of humorous references to this incident by her husband. She realized that she deserved every one of her cane strikes, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling hatred toward Sarah Winthorp. She hoped that Winthorp lost her position as a school governess because of this. She also hoped that the woman would carry around permanent scars from her upcoming encounter with the cane. Woosh. CRACK!!!!! The sting of the next strike slammed her painfully back into the reality of the situation. She screamed out and tried to pull away from her secretary. Unfortunately for Mrs. Sinclair, she had trained the woman all too well in the art of securely holding unwilling participants. Mrs. Sinclair wasn’t going anywhere.

Woosh. CRACK!!!!!

When Mrs. Wicker had applied all thirty ruinous strikes to the unprotected bottom of the headmistress, Mrs. Sinclair surged upward and danced about for a few minutes, much to the amusement of the entire assembly. Mrs. Wicker finally ordered her to her place in the line of shame and Mrs. Sinclair had to stand there with hands on head throughout the final four punishments. Mrs. Sinclair’s bottom smarted fiercely. She wanted so badly to soothe her blistered and bleeding arse, but she knew the penalty if her hands left her head. She was no exception to the rule, so she suffered in agony throughout the entire session. The only bright spot to the entire scene was when Mrs. Winthorp had unleashed a string of shocking curses in the middle of her caning. Mrs. Wicker conferred with Mr. Winthorp and announced in a loud voice, “For using scandalous language in a public forum, you, Sarah Winthorp, shall receive a penalty of twenty strokes to be applied without mercy and to the bare immediately following the completion of your original sentence.” When Sarah Fielding was finally through with her punishment, penalties and all, she was allowed to take her place in the line of shame. She had a difficult time trying to remain upright. She most definitely kept her hands on her head throughout the next twenty minutes while Mrs. Wicker lectured about what was just witnessed.

Then Mrs. Wicker called Jennifer Bloom forward and publicly awarded her with reinstatement into the ranks of the prefects. Finally, all of the people were sent out of the hall.

When the last of them left the door, fifteen sets of hand immediately shot to flaming backsides in an attempt to soothe away the pain. Mrs. Wicker firmly told the assembled ladies to stop that nonsense and put on their panties. Agonized wails and screeches followed as panties were pulled over very sore and swollen bottoms. The prefects were dismissed and Mrs. Winthorp and Fielding were escorted out by their respective husbands. Mrs. Fielding gave a sympathetic look towards Mrs. Sinclair and exited herself.

Jayne Sinclair looked around the now silent hall. She was still sobbing a trifle from her experience and from the pain

caused when her panties were forced over her fiery bum. She limped over and saw various bloodstains about the punishment table and along the line where each chastised female had been forced to stand. She would have to inform the custodian about the mess. She didn’t relish returning to her office now. She couldn’t quite bring herself to walk down the halls of her school knowing that every girl she met would have a clear memory of her headmistresses naked backside being caned. She now fully remembered the humiliation of being caned all those years ago.

Mrs. Sinclair spied the dreaded cane lying across the table. She picked it up and swished it a couple of times. Such an innocuous sounding thing that could do devastating damage to an arse that was devoid of the protection of either skirt or panties. Even protected, the cane delivered a vicious strike. She turned to the sound of the assembly hall door being opened. Mrs. Bloom was walking towards her. Mrs. Sinclair quickly dabbed a handkerchief in an attempt to dry her puffy eyes.

“Mrs. Sinclair. I want to apologize for my husband’s requirement that you be punished…” “Think nothing of it.” “I wanted to let you know something that I’ve kept secret all these years. I leave it in your hands as to the consequences of my admission.” “What about?” Mrs. Bloom took in a deep breath. “It’s about all those years ago back in school when I was the cause of getting Sarah and Jessica caned. They really did have a right to be vengeful of the incident. I was the one that had caused the crime that led to their canings. Since I was a prefect, I didn’t want to have my status stripped, so I falsified the evidence and reported them to the headmistress. In a way, I did exactly what they did when they caused poor Jennifer to be caned.” Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes widened. “What do you want me to do about this?” Mrs. Bloom looked meaningfully at the cane in Mrs. Sinclair’s hand. “Oh, right. Well, missy, strip and take the position. Your sentence is twenty strokes to be applied without mercy and to the bare plus an additional twenty for remaining silent for so long.”

Woosh. CRACK!!!!!