The Ashworth Women

"Two, thank you, Sir. May I please have another?"

The cane snapped harshly into her sensitive flesh again and again, each stroke producing the same request for another.

Jane's salty tears dripped onto the desk, yet her body yearned for more. Each strike was so painful, the hurt rippling deep within, yet as the pain blossomed, so did the joy of relief.

She could picture the raised angry lines left by the rod, lines which burned like fire yet were cathartic and calming, releasing the pain of loss she clung to so tightly.

Dr McClure eyed the precise crimson ladder on Jane's cheeks. He felt a deep satisfaction for a job well done. Twelve aggressive bluish-crimson welts, equally spaced from the top of her cheeks to that sweet, painful sit spot and crease of cheeks where they met thigh.

Involuntarily, his hand reached out, caressing his handiwork, tracing each line, taking delight in the way in which Jane's bottom quivered at his touch.

He noticed Jane had moved, and her head turned to look at him. An oddly curious look in her eyes mixed with something else was very sultry and demanding.

She spoke, low and needy, "Headmaster, I believe that the rather impressive stiffness in your trousers deserves to be freed and put to good use?"

He did not hesitate, laying down his cane; he undid the waistband on his trousers, pushing them down together with his underwear to reveal his hard manhood, standing proud.

Jane had judged him right; he was large, long and thick, the perfect combination for her; he was even larger than her late husband she thought as she parted her legs, wriggling her bottom to invite him in.

Jane did not need any foreplay; she was already shaking in anticipation, moist, lubricated for the penetration she so desperately craved.

She felt his manhood drag down the cleft of her bottom cheeks. His hardness and heat transfixed her. She trembled in excited anticipation as his strong hands pulled her backwards. He bent his knees, pushing on her thighs, positioning himself directly behind, up close, and then slowly, he pushed gently but firmly, steadily forcing his cock inside her sex.

"Oh, headmaster," Jane cried, as she was stretched wide, "You are so wonderfully big... show no mercy!" she moaned as she tightened her pussy muscle on the solid hot shaft.

This is what she wanted, so big, so relentless as he worked his cock deep into her. She accepted and adjusted to his beautiful cock, to its thickness, to its length; she felt stuffed.

And then he was entirely in, bottomed out; she could feel the heat from his thighs, feel his short, wiry pubic hair pressing deep into her bottom cheeks, scratching; she knew that the head of his cock must be at touching her cervix. Then he withdraws, holding for a moment before pushing back in one fluid, powerful movement.

Jane was in heaven; nothing could compare to the feeling of deep soul-burning pleasure and utter fullness she now felt.

Jane screamed in pleasure, her body impaled on his beautiful cock; he pulled back again, then pushed forward, building a steady rhythm of long, deep strokes, each stroke igniting a million nerve endings deep within her sex and radiating out throughout her body.

His strokes begin to get faster and harder, each deep penetration now producing an equal response from her shuddering, quaking body. His strong hands slapped her already tender bottom cheeks.

At the moment he first penetrated her, Jane had orgasmed, and under the brute force of his thrusts, she was building towards something massive.

Little flickers of fire danced over her skin as if she was suddenly alive and possessed, and then suddenly, she came in a tidal wave, loudly screaming and thrashing below him. It felt like a dam had broken loose as her whole body shook. She had nothing to cling to except the air and the edge of his desk, and tears burst from her eyes as she gulped ragged breaths deep into her burning lungs.

"Oh!" His growl drowned out his gasped oh as he lurched forward, falling on top of her back; then she sensed rather than felt his manhood swelling even bigger, harder and white-hot jets of sticky juice splash deep inside her.

They both lay quiet, unmoving for a while, their breathing calming down until she felt him lift himself, "Good girl." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. He kissed the top of her head as she rose to fall into his arms, leaning against his chest.

~~oOo~~

Leslie Stuart half carried the weeping, broken Hannah down the short corridor length to the infirmary.

On entering, she locked the door and gently coaxed the distraught girl. "Hannah, lie face down on the couch. I have some special cream to soothe and heal."

She spoke in gentle tones, continually telling Hannah how well she had done and how, now that it was all over, brave she had been.

With her bottom facing up, it was self-evident where the marks of Dr McClure's caning lay; the ten angry bruises were perfectly spaced parallel welts.

She filled her hand with cream, then ran over the red-striped bottom, working it skilfully into the deep welts, soothing the burning ache and the horrible itching Hannah felt. Hannah found Leslie's touch a relief, cool and soft, damping down the fire that raged across her bottom; she was struggling not to start crying again.

And then Leslie said something that seemed strange. 'Of course, after such a painful punishment, it can have some benefits, like igniting a sexual response. On a subconscious level, pleasure and pain are closely related."

Hannah did feel a rather nice heat rising in her loins, hearing Leslie's soft, gentle voice, feeling the relief of her hands on her poor, injured bottom.

The way Leslie was talking to her it made her feel so much better.

Then Leslie asked, "Do you feel more sensitive, Hannah? Maybe a little excited?"

Hannah bit her lip; yes, she did feel that particular sensitiveness and her breathing had changed, become shallower, her heart racing.

She felt like playing with a specific part of herself, which she had discovered recently but resisted.

Leslie's hand was now actually caressing her bottom and thighs, doing delicious, tingly things to her skin.

Then Leslie told her to turn over and lie on her back, relax and trust, listen to her voice and relax, and let go of all the bottled-up tension.

Hannah didn't hesitate. She turned, and oddly, her bottom didn't hurt anything like she thought it might, nor did she feel embarrassed or uncomfortable in Leslie's company.

Leslie stood over her, watching Hannah's face and eyes closely. Her hand seemed to caress the tops of Hannah's thighs and stomach absently.

Leslie spoke to her softly, soothingly. Helping her to come to terms with the experience of her first taste of the cane.

Hannah grasped at Leslie's reassuring words. Words which meant so much going around and around her head as she lay there half naked.

She could feel the heat throbbing from her bottom beneath her, where it pressed into the leather of the couch. Sending tingling sparks shooting through her body, all of them bearing the same glowing tenderness. Hannah relaxed totally, finding peace and a sensual feeling of well-being in Leslie's voice and soft words.

She was talking about caning, about pleasure and reward, about trust and release, about letting go.

All sense of the physical shock she had earlier experienced had left her.

She felt safe and cared for; her eyes were closed, and her mind was in a dream.

Then Leslie's fingers found Hannah's hard little nub of pleasure, inquisitive fingers explored and probed and circled; within moments, Hannah's back arched, and a million bright bursts of energy exploded across all her senses as she orgasmed for the first time in her life.

All the while, Leslie's soft voice kept up the encouragement and the praise to cement the positive effect.

Hannah lay back exhausted; never before had she felt something so wonderful, so fulfilling. She opened her eyes, looking up at the beautiful green sparkling eyes smiling down at her.

"You did well, my beautiful girl," Leslie spoke softly, "such a wonderful gift you truly are. You are so bright and clever, so pretty, but why did you need the crib sheet? You are so much better than that?"

Hannah blushed. She wanted to tell, wishing to unburden herself of the shame.

Perhaps it was all too much in one day, the horrible punishment, the intense pleasure. Instinctively, she leapt at the chance to trust Leslie.

"M... my boyfriend dumped me. I was so hurt I couldn't revise, couldn't do anything, and Charlotte knew this and pushed the crib sheet in my hand at the last minute, but I didn't use it, honest." Hannah whispered with tears in her eyes.

"But you are an amazing girl. Why would he dump you?"

"I... I think I must be deformed," Hannah stammered.

Leslie breathed in, and she didn't understand, "deformed?"

"I must be, you see, since my eighteenth birthday, my boyfriend was pushing me to go all the way. It's all the other girls brag about, so eventually, I said yes. Anyway, Mum was out, and he came round, and after some necking, I took my blouse off and everything went wrong. He became angry. He pushed me away and ran out of the house."

Leslie pulled the crying girl into a hug, holding her and stroking her hair to soothe her down. "Hannah, I need you to trust me. We should take your blouse off and see what the problem is?"

"Oh... ok," Hannah said, sniffing loudly.

Hesitatingly, she sat upright, undoing the buttons and shrugging them off. Leslie was surprised. Instead of the usual bra, Hanna had a tightly wrapped cloth around her chest. The wrapping flattened her breasts, hiding her figure.

Leslie moved gently, untucking the end of the cloth, and then she unwound it from around Hannah's torso.

Once it was completely off, what was revealed was amazing: Hannah's breasts were large and very well-shaped.

"Hannah, your breasts are amazing; they are perfect, so beautiful, and you are not deformed."

"So why did Tommy get angry with me?"

Leslie paused thoughtfully before answering. In the bigger cities, there had been a fundamental change in sexual knowledge and experience. But here in the smaller market towns, they had to catch up. The swinging '60s, as it was now called, was entirely metrocentric.

"I think, although I can't be certain, that your so-called boyfriend ejaculated prematurely in his underwear because he got too excited, then he probably got embarrassed and angry."

"Oh... is that even possible?" Hannah murmured.

"Yes, boys are so full of themselves. Most lack control or experience. Here, come with me."

She took Hannah's hand, leading her off the couch to stand in front of a full-length mirror.

She couldn't help but be impressed with the younger woman's figure, "Hannah, look at yourself. You are beautiful", standing behind the naked girl, "You have slim hips, a flat stomach and gorgeous, well-formed breasts with no hint of sag. Also don't forget your blond hair and blue eyes. Whether you know it or not, you are every boy's wet dream and the envy of every girl."

Hannah spoke quietly, almost ashamed, "I don't have much experience. I was hoping to, but that didn't work out. Do you really think I am beautiful?"

"Yes, and don't ever doubt it. Tomorrow morning, you have a free period before lunch. So, I will take you to meet a girlfriend who designs and makes made-to-measure lingerie. We can get you measured properly and some exquisite bras, that are comfortable but sexy, what do you think?"

"Oh... ok". Hannah whispered, happy to be able to spend more time with Leslie.

"Good, now on that chair is a college tracksuit; put it on as your Mum will be here soon. Leave your old uniform here, and I shall get it cleaned and pressed for you".

~~oOo~~

It was getting late, and Dr James McClure sat in his favourite armchair. Single Malt in one hand, Miles Davis was playing quietly on the turn table.

He was reviewing everything that had happened during the day, a day full of surprises.

His reverie was broken when he heard Leslie's soft voice, "Good evening, Sir. Have you had a good day?"

His eyes opened, and he looked up towards the sounds, a large smile automatically brightening his face.

Leslie's barefoot movements were graceful, her demeanour submissive as she moved towards him.

He noticed she had taken off the standard Matron's white coat and flat shoes. She looked stunning, totally different to how she would typically be attired, and the delicious movement of her breasts, hidden by the black lacy camisole top, did not disguise or hide the two little stiff peaks in the front and how her breasts moved so delightfully. She also wore a pair of hip-hugging, matching black lacy shorts that begged to be pulled down.

"My day has just got infinitely better, Leslie, a day I must say that has been full of distinct pleasures, and you are certainly the icing on the cake," he responded.

She laughed, a happy laugh, "Good, because I need a little maintenance. First, can I ask, do we know how the invigilator knew about the crib sheet?"

"Yes, apparently, she was tipped off by Charlotte Thomas. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Hannah didn't create the crib sheet. Miss Thomas did and pushed it on her as they went in."

James was thoughtful, "In that case, I think we need to do something about Charlotte Thomas."

"Good, Hannah is a really nice girl, shy and rather naive, but not dishonest. She was set up, so I want to make Thomas's bottom feel like true retribution has been dealt out. In the meantime, however, old man, can you handle this young Woman's needs?"

He laughed, "That attitude, young Lady, will ensure a thorough roasting."

He raised his hand, beckoning with a finger.

Leslie giggled and, with practised ease, lowered herself across his lap. Once she was positioned, she felt at home, and the world felt right.

Leslie felt his hand as he started to stroke her bottom very lightly, from her back down to her knees, his fingers making gentle trails. She sighed, relaxing into the pleasant sensation he was creating, knowing that she was where she belonged.

"So naughty girl, what progress with Hannah?" He said, even as his hand continued the gentle strokes.

Bent over James's lap, the conversation wasn't on Leslie's agenda. She huffed before responding, "She is coming along nicely. Tomorrow, I will take her to Mademoiselle Dubois, a little reward for behaving."

"Excellent, I trust you completely. Her Mother proved to be a revelation, absolutely perfect. She took twelve strokes of the senior without flinching. In fact, I am taking her to dinner on Saturday."

His fingers worked on the waistband of her black lacy shorts, pushing it down. She wriggled, lifting her hips to help ease the item down.

His eyes surveyed the young woman's beautiful heart-shaped bottom. He was always left breathless at how delightfully firm and well-proportioned it was; her skin was flawless, pale and pristine, and he knew from experience the various shades of red it would reward him with from the very first spank.

He loved this sweet, intelligent girl, his Leslie, as he had come to think of her. He had known her her whole life, the daughter of an old friend.

He lifted his right hand, it descended rapidly, and his full, fleshy hand landed SMACK on her left bottom cheek, and she gasped.

"Count." She heard him say, "One, Sir."

Quickly, another smack falls. "Two Sir."

Leslie found the stinging pain exquisite, all the pent-up adrenaline, the emotions and feelings settling into the sting of her cheeks. She felt no shame at the trickling moisture from her excitement began in earnest, erotic, forbidden thoughts tumbling through her mind as another smack landed, "Three, Sir." She cried, then another a bit harder smack across both cheeks. The blow delivers a sharp sting that quickly changes to warmth. It courses through her pelvis and up through her stomach.

The warm feeling between her soft thighs was growing steadily, the tightness in her belly ballooning as the slick hot wetness continued to ooze.

Smack, he spanked harder, the resounding heavy slap causing the flesh of her bottom to ripple under his expert strike. She almost forgets to count out the blow in the heat of the moment but manages to gasp out, "Four, Sir."

He paused, taking the time to admire his handiwork. Leslie's bottom was beautiful, and his senses could not resist massaging her bottom cheeks, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to smooth the pain away.

Leslie recognised that this spanking was different, slower, more erotic, totally aware of her arousal and that this spanking, so skilfully delivered, was far more sensual than usual.

Smack, another blow, again harder than the last; now the tone of her cries is more like excited moans and whimpers, and she knows her face is warming with a deep, embarrassed blush.

Her breath shudders in and out of her burning lungs as he spanks her glowing, heated bottom five times; hard, stinging spanks that increase with intensity in rapid succession.

Then he paused again, and once more, his hands caressed her quivering bottom flesh, so full and hot that her senses overloaded with conflicting sensations. Leslie could now feel real pain overlaying her pleasure, then without warning, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

It is so hard for her to count out the blows, but her hips automatically buck with each blow, as if her body is automatically pushing her bottom into each spank, so lost is she in her growing excitement. She can only choke out half-formed moans with each impact. Real heat now exists on the skin of her bottom, but the heat from within has far outpaced it, consuming her completely.

Then, the rain of spanks ceases as suddenly as they started. Leslie could feel his wonderful hand caressing her burning cheeks, sliding over the untouched, silky, cool skin, then tracing lazy patterns around the heated areas.

He is being so gentle, almost hesitant, in touching her on her soft, wet naked sex, teasing each swollen lip, and then above and below her sensitive cleft, she moans, deep and guttural, totally uncontrolled.

She felt his hand slowly withdraw from her aching pussy. A moment later, or was it an hour, James began to rain fat, heavy spanks down on her naked bottom. His blows fell from the top of her cheeks down her thighs.

Harder and more demanding, her stinging flesh dancing to the rhythm of his hand.

Her salty tears were stinging her eyes, her breathing ragged, she was struggling to keep up with the count, the numbers blurring, colliding in her mind. Then his blows concentrated on one spot, the sweet spot between her burning bottom cheeks and her trembling, shaking thighs.

It made her squeal and howl, begging for mercy, but all the time, she could feel the welcome, familiar tension building, her arousal heightening, growing like a massive balloon of molten hot liquid.

Leslie was almost screaming out the count of spanks now.

At ten, he stopped, and then she felt his soft hand begin to stroke her lightly and tenderly. It made her moan loudly. She craved this and no longer sought to hide her true feelings and the elicit guttural, animal noises she made in the heat of her passion.

His fingers continued dancing across her heated flesh, exquisitely slowly and tenderly, until she began grinding herself back against his touch.

She was a wreck. Nothing existed for her except James and the way he made her bottom burn. She knew she was less than nothing. She had no name, no home, no world and right then, there was nothing she would not have done for him. She would beg, grovel on her knees, and crawl across broken glass if only he would command her to.

As her sobbing subsided, the only sound she could hear was her heartbeat, loud and fast. What felt like an eternity of stillness followed until finally, gently, very gently and lovingly, he moved, lifting her, cradling her in his arms. Her arms automatically found their way around his neck.