Once More, Lynn Receives A Cane
At first, I was taken aback. But then I realized that maybe I shouldn't be too surprised after all. With time, nothing catches me off guard anymore. Strange how we change into our true selves.
Anyway, it all began with an email notification that I had received a message from a spanking forum I was part of. I logged in and read the message, which simply said:
"Hi, I've read your story and think you might be Mr. Hartly. I'm Lynn Green, and we need to meet up - I won't take no for an answer." 😊
She also included her phone number.
"God damn it," I thought, "Chickens coming home to roost and all that."
But before I continue with the story, let me first share the original post from the spanking forum:
Lynn Green's Punishment
She stands tall, perhaps defiant. I've called for her.
Her fiery red hair tumbles down her back, and a shining bob. Her eyes are big and blue, her nose pointed, her nostrils flared just a bit too much. Her mouth appears thin, tightened, when closed, and a pair of pink lips trace the border of her face.
She is not taller than 5'4" and of a slender frame. I know she's 18.
She is wearing a sleeveless, starched white shirt with top too buttons undone. I catch a glimpse and relish the white flesh of her neck, the V of her chest. She's bra-less, and her prominent nipples strain against the fabric.
It's Monday, June 20th, 1983, and the weather's hot.
Her regulation navy blue skirt is just a few inches above her knees - and tight. Her pale legs are bare, and she's wearing black sandals.
She faces me, standing erect with uncovered arms hanging limply at her sides. I'm the headmaster.
"Do you know why you're here, Miss Green?"
"Yes, it's about the smoking," she tries to sound calm, but a nervous tremble in her voice hints at anxiety.
"You know, Miss Green, we don't allow any of our pupils to smoke on the school grounds..."
"I'm eighteen, and I'm allowed to smoke legally," she protests weakly.
"I understand that, but you're a bad influence on those who are younger and not allowed to smoke. Have you realized how bad smoking is for your health and what a horrible habit it is?"
I can see she knows she's not going to win. She'll take what comes her way.
"I've had to reprimand you before. Mrs. Clark warned you about this just a month ago. Have you forgotten so quickly?"
"No, sir, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."
"I doubt that it won't," I reply, pushing the advantage.
"I'm afraid there's little choice but to give you two strokes with the cane."
She looks frightened as dread flits across her pretty features.
"Walk over to the chair in the corner. Bend over and place your palms on the seat."
She follows my instructions and slowly ambles over. It's like watching a condemned man.
The chair's back is against the white wall in my office. I open the cupboard and fetch the standard school cane: about two feet long with a curved handle. I think of all the pain this simple tool has caused in the past.
I move to stand parallel to her left side.
"I will give you two hard strokes. You mustn't move until after the second one. If you do, you'll receive an extra one. Do you understand?"
She mumbles a response and then nods.
I evaluate her. Her skirt is pulled tight, the material glimmering over her bum.
Her white arms are strained, and I notice many small moles speckling her skin. Blonde arm hairs stick out, perhaps out of fear, and her thick chestnut hair falls around her face.
I step back, lifting my right arm, then swing the cane with a hiss across her buttocks. It sounds loud as it lands with a crack.
She groans lowly and lifts her left leg, bent at the knees. I notice her strong calves as she puts it back in place.
I swing the cane with full force onto her buttocks again.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaims, and puts her hands behind her to hold her rear.
"Finished, Green. You may return to class."
She straightens up, still massaging her backside, and faces me, her eyes red-fringed and watery, her face flushed from the pain.
She leaves without saying a word, opens the door, and exits into the corridor.
I go to the door, close it, then close it behind her.
I envision her residing at her home later, perhaps within her bedroom, devoid of any clothing, in front of a mirror, shifting around and prodding the parallel grooved purple stripes that now decorate her milky-white lower backside.
Some time prior to this, we encountered each other on a Wednesday during midday, and decided to share a cup of coffee outdoors, away from the other patrons at an establishment. It was sunny and warm that May of 1995.
I had arrived early and ordered a "Latte" while keeping myself occupied by observing the foot traffic in the bustling area. This half-shy nature of mine does not easily accommodate proximity to others; I'm quite selective about whom I'd let into my life and I often maintain a short distances to prevent the potential creation of a long-term adversary. "Safety First" is my mantra, although today, this situation was anything but normal.
As I spotted her approach, I raised my arm. She made eye contact, greeted me with a grin, and proceeded up to my table.
When she arrived, I stood up and offered her my hand. She took it, and said: "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Hartly, it's been quite some time... and you may call me Lynn."
I replied by introducing myself, extending the names "Jon" and "Jonathan," and commenting on how it felt somewhat akin to a criminal meeting one of his victims or a jailer an ex-prisoner.
Lynn's original Yorkshire accent was not as distinct as I had remembered, but this occurred twelve years ago.
I observed how confident her pose was, and that her figure had filled out a bit and she oozed self-assurance in her substantial, yet well-proportioned build, and her settled appearance. Her tan skin was exposed in her short-sleeved black top, lack of a bra (her full breasts were visible underneath), her short denim skirt (showcasing her legs), and her blonde curly locks. She maintains an attractive aura, one that might be deemed dirty minded or provocative.
Changing topics, I said: "So, Lynn, how have you been in terms of employment?"
Her eyes gleamed with mirth as she took a deep inhale, pushing her plentiful, full and curled chestnut locks through her fingers. "In July, I finished schooling, but I was unsure of my direction. I worked as a cleaner at a holiday resort for the summer season, then was hired at an office. It was quite tedious, and, ultimately, I landed a job in an estate agency. I love it - receiving commissions after closing a deal; the market had a slight downturn, but change is coming and the internet will transform the industry."
I redirected our conversation. "So, Lynn, how is your line of work? Assuming you have left the school system since then."
"It's been quite deliberate, Lynn," she interjected. "Ever since that June day when you administered corporal punishment of a rather intense nature, the experience has been an ever-present thought in my mind. It was both agonizing and uncomfortable..."
"I can't apologize, as it seemed inappropriate in our societal expectations back then."
She signaled me, gesturing the waitress over for another round. "We don't need to bother with trivialities, let's cut to the chase."
She sipped her beverage before resting it on the table optimally. "Alright... I have a confession to make. I've never expressed any of it to anybody, not a word about it. And it all starts where your narrative left off."
Immediately after you punished me, I rushed to the bathroom and locked myself inside. I lifted my skirt, pulled down my underwear, and started massaging my sore bottom. A few moments later, I burst into tears, experiencing delayed shock, I presume. I also hated you intensely. I felt anger. But after a while, I gathered myself together and vowed not to let you win. I intended to continue with the rest of the day, and the rest of my life, as if nothing significant had taken place, just like when one trips and scratches a knee or twists an ankle. I never told any of my friends what happened, only that I received a warning. I also thought that with time, I would forget it - I was wrong.
I continued living my life, building relationships, and pursuing my career. I learnt to live with my flirtatious and vain nature. I was quite a showoff... you've probably noticed how I show off my arms... even my freckled ones, as you found it necessary to mention in your confession.
"Your arms aren't really that hairy... I was just indulging in the specifics of the moment... relishing it so I could revisit it in my mind."
"I was just joking. I don't mind what people think of my body. I know I'm attractive. Very attractive. I've had multiple partners. None of them satisfied me, fulfilled me, or made me fall in love with them. I broke things off with them, cheated on them, played games with them. It's partly your fault... your sadistic tendencies... the fact that you witnessed me hurt and degraded... and didn't seem to care. It's similar to Stockholm Syndrome... and that cane of yours was an extension of your very own penis."
She grew emotional and distressed.
"Calm down, please."
"I'm sorry." She continued, "Years ago, I researched my experience but couldn't find anyone with similar stories. One night, I had a dream where you were punishing me again, and I awoke aroused, yearning for you... I desired you. After all those years of denial, I came to realize that I genuinely loved you... mentally, you deflowered me that day, leaving a mark on my bottom and claiming me as yours. However, I had no idea where you lived, what your marital status was, even if you were gay. Then I found out about this website... and there it was... and now..."
"Now what?"
"Now what? Unfinished business... we both need to deal with it... acknowledge it..."
"Alright... what do you want me to do?"
She removed her denim bag, brought out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and blew the harsh smoke directly into my face provocatively.
"As I mentioned, Sir, I still haven't learned my lesson..."
Shortly after, we finished our drinks, and I drove her back (in my white BMW, which she was highly impressed by) to my large bungalow on the outskirts of town...
As soon as we entered, I said, "I have something to show you."
In my cozy, spacious living room with tasteful decor, I left her to observe the surroundings while I walked towards my bedroom. Inside my room, I opened a sturdy, lockable wooden box, revealing sentimental mementos like childhood toys and valuable souvenirs. Among these items was a two-foot-long, curved-handled school cane.
"Wow," she exclaimed, surprise evident in her voice. "You actually kept the cane you used to punish me with all those years ago. That's strange."
"I'd occasionally lubricate it with linseed oil to maintain its condition. It's still completely functional."
"Wow, I can't believe it."
We then carried on with our conversation, me explaining the rules of the household.
"I'm leaving to use the toilet, which is the first door on the left down the hallway. Feel free to use it. I'll be in my... study, which is the second door on the right at the end of the hallway."
"Thank you, the second door on the right?"
"Yes."
As the tension in the air increased, I sensed a brewing storm, or perhaps a more fitting simile would be a lull before an emotional explosion.
Minutes later, there was a tentative knock on my bedroom door.
"Excuse me, Sir."
"Come in, Miss Green."
A thirty-year-old woman, with tanned arms speckled with moles and freckles, long, golden hair, piercing sapphire eyes, and an appealing turned-up nose, stepped into my bedroom.
"You wanted to see me, Sir," she said, her voice slightly shaky.
"Yes, I do, Miss Green. I've discovered that you've disobeyed my orders and continued to smoke, a repugnant, thoughtless, and unhealthy activity. So, what's your explanation?"
She argued that she had the right to do as she pleased with her own body and that I had no authority to control her actions.
Sensing the direction this conversation might take, I remained in character.
"You believe you can do whatever you want, Miss Green. Well, you're in for a harsh lesson. I'm going to inflict six strokes of the cane upon you."
"Make your best attempts, I'm not afraid of your little stick."
"Over the years, you've turned into quite the insolent pup, Miss Green. But I have my doubts about your bravery after this experience."
She retorted, "If anyone's going to be apprehensive or shocked, it's you, you troubled soul."
"Enough of this insolence, young lady. Approach the chair in the corner and bend over. You're about to receive six powerful strokes. Straighten up at your own peril."
With a reluctant air, she limped towards the chair and bent over. I picked up the cane, which lay on my bed, and prepared myself for the punishment.
My large bedroom provided more than enough space for my actions.
Standing to the left of her, I recalled her golden arms, with multiple small moles and freckles, her hair cascading over her pretty face, her big sapphire eyes, and her delicate nose.
I swung my arm as far as it could reach and lashed the cane against her denim skirt. I heard her tense, presumably in pain.
After a brief waiting period, I struck again, across her exposed backside. Crying out and clenching her fists, she obviously felt the stinging sensation.
I was determined to impose severe discipline on her and decided not to hold back an ounce, despite feeling a twinge of sympathy.
The third strike faced her near her knees, causing her to sway. Perhaps she had also become audibly sniffling. Yet, she never pleaded for leniency.
A fourth stroke resulted in her openly bawling, each blow igniting a new wave of agony. I allowed her to rub her bottom after each blow, but she craved further pain, an attitude I found peculiar.
The fifth stroke was so painful that she raised her right leg out of instinct. Her body quivered and sobbed throughout the ordeal.
I delivered the final stroke, which caused her left leg to momentarily give way and her deep sobs to fill the room.
With that, the ordeal ended, and surprisingly, both of us felt some relief. The task was completed, and we were both satisfied.
"You've been punished now, Lynn. You've displayed real courage," I said, expressing my admiration for her bravery in the face of the unbearable agony.
She straightened up and turned around. Her eyes were red from crying, and tears were still streaming down her cheeks. Her lips still seemed to be shaking as she embraced me tightly.
Neither of us spoke as she pressed her lips against mine. I could feel her body still trembling from the severe caning she'd just experienced. But in that moment, we felt connected.
I placed my arms around her waist and pulled her closer to me. We kissed passionately, any resistance dissolving. I brushed her beautiful hair away from her neck and gently ran my tongue along it. There was no need for a script in this intimate scene.
I moved behind her and continued to kiss her softly on the back and base of her stunning neck. She turned and pushed her face into mine, opening her mouth and letting me explore her with my tongue. Her breath was warm and smoky, yet I adored it.
And then she took off her skimpy black top, revealing her well-toned breasts with hard, full nipples. Her skin was tan and attractive, and she was in great shape. Her trim tummy was evident.
I gently laid her down on the bed, her expression filled with sadness, her eyes pleading for something indescribable yet to be anticipated.
I quickly took off my shirt, threw it onto the floor, and lay down beside her on the duvet. I took her left arm in my hands and kissed along and up it like a butterfly landing on flowers until I reached her neck.
Her breathing became deeper, her soul surrendering...
I climbed down the bed and gently fumbled with the brass buttons of her denim skirt, slowly pulling it off her. She was naked underneath and hadn't been wearing panties. Her smooth, perfectly shaved vagina was clearly visible. She was also intensely arousing.
I stood up and removed the rest of my clothing, leaving us both naked.
I returned to the bed and kissed her deeply while allowing my left hand to gently pinch her nipples as her iris half closed in anticipation of pleasure.
I noticed that there was now a light sheen, an invisible layer of sweat, on her tanned skin, so I moved down the bed again, gently pushed her legs apart, and let my tongue find her clitoris. I licked her slowly and firmly up and down her slit, causing her to writhe slightly in discomfort from the stimulation. She swallowed hard and slowly arched her back, her head thrown back as she moaned loudly.
Just as I thought she was about to orgasm, I stopped and entered her, causing her to gasp loudly. On top of her, I began to thrust profoundly while she moved her right hand down underneath me to her crotch. As I began pushing harder and faster, she began to moan even more excitedly, seeming almost wild. Finally, she let out a small scream as she started to climax. As her internal muscles began to spasm, I also released my seed powerfully, feeling it shoot deep inside her. For a moment, we both seemed frozen in a place beyond time and space, experiencing blissful ecstasy.
Eventually, we returned to reality. Our breathing slowed, and our bodies cooled down. Passion shifted to reflection...
I was slumped next to her, unsure how to react, so I leaned over her, kissed her gently on the lips, and said, "Thanks, Lynn, that was beautiful."
"Yeah, it was amazing, and I never would have guessed that would have happened," she said, laughing.
"How's your butt?"
"Sore," she replied, turning to show me.
Her buttocks bore six crimson stripes from the harsh strappings. I'd done a good job.
"Look," she said, her tone changing, "This was all about...closure... I needed to do this so I could move on... sorry."
I didn't respond and watched as she got up, went to the door, and left.
A few minutes later, she returned, cigarette in hand, and after taking a puff, said, "I hope you don't mind me smoking... but that, all of it, was incredibly intense... cathartic... and I've got to say you're a good lover with a satisfying penis... but... but I owe it to myself to move on..."
"Okay, Lynn, I understand... and life is what it is... you can appear to achieve closure in some things... but, honestly, I think what I'm trying to say is that closure is just for unimportant things. Maybe I'm not explaining this well."
She came up to me, put her arms around me, kissed me, and said, "Thanks, I know what you're saying, and what you said makes total sense..."
She then took a long, deep drag on her cigarette, making it glow brightly before blowing a large smoke ring in my direction and laughing.
She's off now... Jon... and if you ever want to sell your place, give me a call... I'll help you fetch top dollar.
A short while later, she was out the door, leaving only the lingering scent of cigarette smoke that quickly faded away.
I found myself feeling both sad and happy at the same time. I kept the cane by my side for a few extra days before putting it back in its box.
After six long weeks, she reached out to me in a text, saying:
Hello, Jon. What do you think I've been up to lately?
I joked, Smoking, right?
Bingo! she replied. So then, Jon, what's your plan now?
Read also:
- Criminally-Tuned Rhythm Chapter 1
- 02 - The House of Representatives
- Chapter 12: Beth's Affection
- Treehouse Chapter 4
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