Archive for the ‘ Naughty girls spanking stories ’ Category

One Over the Eight

One Over the Eight
by Vanessa

Seven, eight – the last stroke landing squarely at the top of the fifth former’s thigh.
Miss Perkins put down the cane: eight strokes was enough – the most she had ever given, or wanted to give. And although she was sanctioned to deliver up to nine strokes – and the girl’s refusal to apologise for her behaviour no doubt merited it – she would do no more. In any case, she thought to herself, some sort of message had clearly got through, for the girl, having maintained a dignified silence throughout most of her punishment, was now sobbing audibly in the corner.
Miss Perkins returned the cane to its cupboard and sat down at her desk. Opening up the punishment book, she filled out the necessary details: J Maclean, Upper V, eight strokes with the cane. She glanced up at the girl, her head buried in her arm, her sobs now resolving into a more subdued blub.
‘Come here,’ she instructed at last.
The girl put down her arm, and turned towards Miss Perkins’ desk. The headmistress inwardly sighed: she knew she should deliver one last stroke of disapproval, even if verbal, but looking at the girl – her hair dishevelled, her face stained with tears and the remnants of defiance – she simply said ‘Go and see matron and clean yourself up.’

Dare Devil

Dare Devil


Like many things in life, it had started out small: just the three of them, each week, handing out each other dares; dares which, as time went by, became progressively more – daring.
And now it was Sabrina’s turn to take a dare. But she wasn’t worried; after all, while the others had both copped some form of punishment for their efforts – 200 lines for cheeking the maths mistress, five laps around a rain-lashed hockey pitch for ‘mislaying’ the games mistress’ whistle – Sabrina had come through unscathed. She felt invincible.
‘Up on the roof of Trelaine.’
‘Trelaine?’ demanded Sabrina.
‘Yes, Trelaine; up on the roof,’ continued Amanda. ‘Just get to the top mind, then straight back down, straight back down: I dare you.’
Trelaine, thought Sabrina, her mind turning to the picturesque ivy-clad arts building, and the most definitely out-of-bounds external staircase that clambered up its four floors. Yes, it was possible. And she was invincible: no dare was too far – in fact, at the moment, the further the better.
‘I’ll do it!’ she announced.
‘When?’ asked Amanda.
‘Right now.’
Josie glanced anxiously at her watch: 5.30pm; it was getting dark, and most people would be relaxing in the common room, but even so.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘Now or never,’ replied Sabrina.
Sabrina was surprised how easy it was to access the staircase: clearly, the caretaker had never thought anyone would attempt climbing it.
Soon she was at the top. And it felt good. She looked down at the figures of Amanda and Josie, already waving at her to come down, and she would come down – in a minute.
‘Sabrina Duncan, what the devil do you think you are doing?’
Sabrina’s heart stopped; she looked down again at the ground, where stood the unmistakable figure of Miss Griffiths, the deputy head.
‘What the devil did you think you were doing?’
Now she was standing in front of the headmistress.
‘I’m asking you a question!’
‘I was climbing up on the roof,’ replied Sabrina at last.
‘Don’t you dare be cheeky with me, young lady,’ asserted the head, and with that she walked across to her corner cupboard and picked out the longest, thickest cane.

Rebel, Rebel

Rebel, Rebel

by Vanessa

It was no good, she couldn’t get comfortable – even on her front, her backside still complained loudly. And she didn’t need to look – didn’t want to look – in the mirror to see why, her hand gingerly tracing the angry lines raised on her behind. And she didn’t want to talk to anyone either, didn’t want to answer their well-meaning questions and queries, just wanted to be let be.
At last, lights out came and she could be truly alone with her thoughts. Her mind reeled back over the day – the bunking off, the summons to the headmistress, and the punishment – six of the best with the cane, then another three, as she refused to say she was sorry for missing Miss Harris’ maths lesson, a lesson in which she knew she would be made to sit at the front, given extra homework and singled out in front of the class. It wasn’t fair, and she was determined to make some kind of protest. And, she wasn’t sorry, even though the headmistress had said she was stubborn, immature and disobedient, even though she had been soundly beaten, even though she was still hurting, she wasn’t sorry at all.

Hard Times

Hard Times
By Vanessa

It was the moment she dreaded the most – the moment time hung heavy in the air, as she awaited the first stroke. A sudden swish, then a heavy line of pain across her buttocks. Barely defended by a pair of blue school knickers, Rebecca’s whole frame juddered. She buried her face in her arm and squeezed her eyes tight shut.
‘One!’ intoned Miss Lawson, Rebecca barely recovering from her shock in time to respond – ‘One, Thank You Miss Lawson’ . Now number two, then three, then four, all the while Miss Lawson berating her for her poor behaviour; how she should be setting an example for the younger girls; and how this punishment would be a valuable lesson for her. But Rebecca was not really listening to Miss Lawson, her whole mind a dancing swirl of pain. Swish – down rained number five. Number five, one more stroke to go, but Rebecca knew from experience it was going to be the worst – the one to remember, the one to drive the lesson home. Wham, the pain was overwhelming, and Rebecca couldn’t stifle a cry.
‘Be quiet!’ commanded Miss Lawson. Rebecca dug deeper into her arm.
‘OK, you can get up and dressed now,’ instructed Miss Lawson at last. Rebecca raised herself gingerly from the desk and pulled down her skirt. She turned to face her Headmistress, who was still holding the cane.
‘There now,’ continued the Head, ‘That wasn’t too difficult was it?’

The Last Resort

The Last Resort

By Vanessa

It really was the last resort thought Miss Prim as she looked at the senior cane she had just placed on her desk.

After all, this school was all about learning, and she prided herself on encouraging an environment in which her pupils could express themselves, without undue fear of punishment. Still, punishment had a part to play. She knew all too well the effect of a sharp OTK slippering on a wayward first year: an experience the girl in question no doubt found more humiliating than painful, and which in most cases resulted in immediate abstinence from bad behaviour.

Then there was the junior cane: a step up in severity from the slipper, and enough to send the offending schoolgirl into floods of tears and expressions of regret.

And then there was the last resort. She looked down at the cane again. Thicker and longer than the junior cane, its blows less wispy, its application usually resulted in lingering red ridges across a girl’s behind: getting six of the best from the senior cane was not an experience most would forget.

Except perhaps Miranda Black.

It was five minutes to five: the girl would be here any moment. Miss Prim picked up the cane with a barely audible sigh and ran it determinedly through the air: she was ready.

Landlord – A Caning Fantasy

Landlord – A Caning Fantasy

By Mike

(previously published on Mike’s Spanking Boot which is closing)

I imagine that I have, through some good fortune such as winning the lottery, or inheritance, I have acquired a very large house in a desirable area of London. Being wealthy, but of a philanthropic bent, I decide to allow female students to live in the house rent free while studying, so as to give them an opportunity to study in London which, because of the high cost of living in the city, would otherwise be denied to them.

There are however, certain (ahem) conditions: The girls are required to maintain good standards of cleanliness, and to live by reasonable rules, such as not playing music loud and disturbing others, and also achieving reasonable grades in their studies.

I, of course, monitor their behaviour and keep an eye out for any transgressions of the rules of the house, and every week or two they are required to attend an interview with me in a special room set aside for the purpose. The room has some very unusual furniture: A desk, a chair,a steel filing cabinet, and a.. spanking horse. The walls are painted black, and there are steel rings attached to the walls, and the ceiling. Hanging from various hooks are implements commonly used for corporal punishment: a large selection of canes, riding crops and paddles are all on show, creating a sense of foreboding to anyone who enters.

One of two things will happen at the interview: If there is no problem, I will simply ask how the interviewee is getting on, whether everything is ok, etc. If, on the other hand, they have transgressed in some way, a file will have been removed from the cabinet, and the conversation will take a different turn: The girl will be told what she has done, and how she will be punished. She will not have any opportunity to appeal: My decision will be final. Almost always she will be awarded either 6 or 12 strokes of the cane.

There will, however, always be an alternative offered, in accordance with a table which is on display in the interview room: This is what she can choose:

If she has been awarded 12 strokes on the bare bottom, she can:

Pay £10 and receive 12 strokes,but on her knickers
Pay £50 and receive 6 strokes only on her bare bottom
Pay £60 and receive 6 strokes on her knickers
Pay £100 and receive no corporal punishment at all.

If she has been awarded 6 strokes on the bare bottom, she can:

Pay £10 and receive 6 strokes on her knickers
Pay £50 and receive no corporal punishment at all.

This system is designed to be fair: If she pays the maximum fines, she would still pay an amount which would be below the market rent for the room she lives in.

The offender is told to return in 4 hours, either with the money, or dressed appropriately for punishment, in a special skirt and T shirt, both of which have printed on them: I am a naughty girl and I want to be caned.

In my fantasy, the girls are warned before they come that the system involves corporal punishment, so only those who accept the idea come to live in the house, anyway, and despite having the opportunity to pay their way out of trouble, they always accept the caning, which their housemates are permitted to watch, should they so wish. It is therefore not surprising that they almost always come to the interview room looking shame faced and apprehensive, but resigned to their fate.

Sometimes I employ a professional dominatrix to administer the punishment, while I watch and enjoy the spectacle, and I always make them wait for 10 minutes after the caning while I watch the stripes come up, and I lecture them on their behaviour.

To my surprise, I often find that one or two of the girls always seem to have done something to deserve punishment, so much so, that I begin to wonder if they actually enjoy being caned. For example, there will be no problem until the day before their interview, when they will deliberately leave washing up in the sink, and immediately admit that they are guilty, almost as if they want to be punished. Of course, I always oblige!

I also have a system where the others can report a transgressor, and a brief ‘trial’ is held, after which punishment is awarded by me. Again, the result is often that girls are punished when otherwise they would not be. I sometimes wonder whether the naughty girl actually put her friends up to the complaint, because she wanted a caning, but I never ask, just administer the strokes as and when required.

In my mind’s eye I have a plan of the house, the rules, the rooms, everything, worked out in great detail, which adds to my enjoyment of it, and if I ever win the lottery I will definitely do it!

A Caning Fantasy

A Caning Fantasy 

By Mike

(previously published on Mike’s Spanking Boot which is closing)

I imagine that my girlfriend and I are the guests of a successful couple,Susan and Steve, who are in their 30’s, in their beautiful home. We are having dinner, along with several of their friends. Susan is beautiful, blonde and shapely, and Steve is tall and handsome, with an assertive air about him. We are enjoying an excellent meal, and everyone is relaxed and happy.

However, as the evening continues, the dynamic between our host and hostess changes. He asks her to clear the plates: She tells him to do it himself. She disagrees with everything he says. She seems to be sulking, and simply refusing to co-operate with him, almost as if she was deliberately trying to irritate him. My girlfriend, who has also had a little too much to drink, encourages her, and several times I have to ask her to remember that she is a guest and should not be so bad mannered.

At first, our host ignores this bad behaviour, and says nothing. (He doesn’t try to placate her, nor does he try and actively defend himself. However, the more he ignores her the worse her behaviour gets. She drinks more than she should, criticises his choice of wine, says that his job is not as important as hers, and becomes more and more irritating.

Finally, she starts to flirt with one of the guests and completely ignores Steve, as if he was not there. He looks on, and I can see that he is working out how he should react and formulating a plan of action.

Suddenly, he stands up, and fixes her with a steely gaze, and says, quietly, and in a way which commands immediate attention from everyone at the table, “My darling, I think we need to have a word in private. Come with me, please..” His voice is firm and steady, and he has an aura about him of one who should not be disobeyed. She stands up, and unsteadily follows him out of the room. They close the door.

We all sit silently at the table, eating our dessert, drinking wine, uncomfortable and not wanting to be the first to break the silence. From behind the closed door, we can hear the muffled sound of our host and hostess in conversation, then it goes quiet for a short while, and then there is the sound of furniture being moved.

Suddenly, there is a swish, crack, and a muffled cry. The other guests seem puzzled, but I recognise the sound and know immediately what is going on: Someone is being caned, and caned hard. The sounds continue for a while, and I count the strokes: 1.. 2.. 3.. 4… 5..6. There is a pause, and more conversation. There is a slight draft from the open window, and the door, which was not closed properly, opens a little. From my chair I can see through the gap, and my suspicions are confirmed.

Sarah is bent over a chair, her skirt up, and her knickers around her knees, and Steve is standing next to her, with a swishy school cane in his hand. As I watch, he raises it and brings it down hard on the centre of her bottom, and she yelps again. Her bottom is already red and striped from the six strokes she has already received, and this additional stroke leaves another angry red tramline right across her buttocks. She yelps, wriggles her bottom, and he waits patiently for her to get back in to position. He continues to cane her. 7..8..9..10..11..12. He leans over her again and they have a short conversation. She gets up, pulls her knickers up, adjusts her skirt and moves out of sight.

Steve comes back in to the room, as if nothing has happened, and a short while later, Sarah returns, red faced, and slightly dishevelled, her eyes wet and shining, and involuntarily, occasionally rubbing her bottom. Steve says, “Sarah, offer our guests some more coffee.” She does so, obediently.

Like polite guests, everyone pretends that nothing has happened, and slowly the conversation starts again, and Sarah behaves herself in every way, attending to her guests, clearing the table, engaging in small talk, and acting in every way like a model hostess.

When we arrive home, I tell my girlfriend that she has just seen exactly what happens when people misbehave, and tell her to fetch the cane. She does,and I give her 6 hard strokes. She expects nothing less.


Volume control

Volume control

by Vanessa

The class was disintegrating: she knew it, and they knew it. The level of noise was rising, with laughter and shouting streaming across the classroom. Some of the girls were even throwing screwed up balls of paper around, most aimed at the three fourth-formers who sat at the back of the class – Jones, Maitland and Prior – whom, Miss Simmons knew to her cost, were the chief troublemakers.

Miss Simmons stood at the front of the class in mounting panic and terror. Her pleas to the girls to sit down and be quiet were landing on deaf ears; and, with a pang, she realised her efforts to teach through reason and kindness had clearly failed. The noise was becoming very loud now, with the voice of Jones in particular rising to the fore. She had to re-establish order, but how? Out of the cacophony, she heard a voice – though in a tone, and at a volume, she barely recognised – it was her own. “Sit down everybody, immediately!” There was no discernible reaction from the girls. “Sit down I say,” the teacher continued, with yet more vigour, “and Jones, Maitland and Prior, come to the front of the class!” Something in her voice must have struck home as suddenly the noise level dipped. One by one the class sat back down at their desks, leaving only Jones, Maitland and Prior upstanding. “You three to the front,” said Miss Simmons again. After some nudging and giggles, the three schoolgirls made their way to the front.

“Look at me,” said Miss Simmons. The girls glanced up, momentarily making eye contact with their teacher. “Now Miranda, go and fetch the cane from my desk.” Miss Simmons was talking at normal volume now; nonetheless, the fourth-former retrieved the cane as instructed. “Give it to me,” continued Miss Simmons, “then go and bend across the desk.” The schoolgirl looked horrified but, presumably keen not to show her fear to her fellows, bent over as directed. Miss Simmons approached the girl, then quickly pulled up her summer skirt. One, two, three, she laid on the cane with decisiveness and vigour, leaving behind three ugly red stripes. “You next Lucy,” she pointed at Maitland. Again; three swift, decisive strokes. And the same for Prior. One, two, three. “And,” continued Miss Simmons once she had finished, and carefully replaced the cane in her desk drawer, “That’ll be one week’s detention for you and all the rest of the class,” an announcement which, she noticed with an unaccustomed satisfaction, was greeted with a stunned collective silence.

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