Remember when I set out to write a spanking story for a collection of such stories that Abel and Haron planned to turn into a book with proceeds going to charity? Well, it's been written! And the book will be coming out soon -- be sure to check back here often, and Abel and Haron's blog, for the release date and more information!
Meanwhile, please enjoy this small taste of the events surrounding and immediately succeeding my own literary contribution to the book: a story entitled, Arlington Girls' Reformatory. :D
~~~
He was seated when I entered, his legs crossed, his iPad in hand, his brow furrowed. He looked up at me from his desk chair after a moment -- I averted my eyes, unable to meet his gaze.
"Miss Bailey. Sit down..." His gesture offered a chair, straight-backed, armless -- it had been deliberately placed there, waiting for me. As I sat, my skirt barely reaching my mid-thighs as the material tightened, he transferred the device he'd been holding into my hands. I saw at once what he had uploaded onto its screen: a PDF of the referral I had received, which had landed me here in the first place. "Read. I will be with you in a moment."
My eyes rolled over the accusatory document, reading carefully but with familiarity -- I had perused this very document in great detail only days before.
"Arlington Reform School
Discipline Referral Form"
It read across the top. I'd had to fill in the word, "Arlington," as the reform school hadn't even been named yet at the time this form had been created.
"Student's Name: Rayne Bailey
Status: Emeritus"
Well, I had founded the school after-all! Seeing as how I'd created the whole concept for the purposes of my "creative writing" assignment. Although, it seemed quite extraordinary to be in this predicament, sitting here in this chair, reading this referral with my name on it, awaiting my fate, as an "emeritus" member of the Arlington Girls' Reformatory. The situation must have been quite serious!
"Reason for Referral: Lack of motivation, Scheduling problems, and Other: Missed multiple deadlines"
All of these offenses were checked. A spacious lined area also offered the writer of the referral plenty of room to expound upon the offenses of the referred, and here my punisher had written quite a few words of explanation. I had not only missed the first deadline for turning in my story, and received an extension... I had then proceeded to miss the second, extended deadline. Luckily, I still finished my story in time for it to make the book, and all turned out well. But in the process, I had put quite a lot of stress on myself, and not to mention on my partner, who weathered the storm with me through two long weekends of writing and revising.
And there he was again, returning to his seat at his desk, considering me.
"Finished?" I nod, and hand the tablet back to him. He receives it coolly. "Is everything written here correct, Miss Bailey?"
"Yes, Sir."
"All of the names and dates?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And the offenses, you admit to committing them? You had no less than three months to complete your assignment, and yet you procrastinated enough to miss not only one, but two deadlines?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Is there anything more I should know about this situation, Miss Bailey?"
This question is slightly unexpected. Anything more he should know? Any extenuating circumstances that may have accounted for her tardiness, her inability to finish on time, even though she did finish in enough time...? The fact that she had just recently finished graduate school and moved three states away, the fact that she had recently fallen in love and invited the life of a-whole-nother person into her own, which accounted for much of her time spent doing many things other than writing?
Of course he should know these things! But glancing up into his eyes, it was clear that should she choose to utter any of them, it would only make things worse for her. Excuses, they would be, and excuses alone -- not nearly excusing the fact that it had taken her three months to start working on a work that was to be published as part of a multi-author volume.
"No, Sir."
"Very well. Stand up, Miss Bailey, and face the corner. I want you to think about what is going to happen to you, and why."
Obeying, I can feel my senses enter hyper-mode as I try to track his movements behind me. His hands are on the straight-backed chair, moving it, adjusting its positioning. He is off to another corner of the room, retrieving something -- something light enough that it makes not a sound as he lifts it and carries it nearer.
"Come here, Miss Bailey."
I turn. My eyes are lowered, not searching for his face -- but instead for his hand. For what is in his hand. It is long, thin, crook-handled. One of the canes we had recently purchased for just this purpose.
"Bend forward over the back of the chair, place your hands on the seat."
It is all I can do not to whimper as I take my position. This will be the first time that MrA has ever caned me.
"You'll receive three with the smallest cane, for the first deadline you missed."
His distinction of exactly
which cane he was using puts me on guard. We have three, you see. A small one, a Junior cane, and a Senior cane. How many of them is he going to use tonight?
Not all three??
As he raises my skirt, his instructions issue forth: "Count each one, and make sure I can hear you."
The first stroke comes as a total shock -- hard and fast, the first time we have played a scene together without any form of warm-up.
"Ahh! One, Sir!"
The next two with the small cane are easier to take, but no less painful. Despite its small size, that little cane still lands quite a sting.
After a hissed, "Threeee, Sir," he pauses, and instructs me to stand.
"Back to the corner, Miss Bailey. No rubbing." Behind me, he moves to place the small cane back where it came from, retrieving another. My bottom is already burning -- and yet I know we're only half way done now, if that.
Only about 45 seconds pass before he is calling me back over the chair. "Same position, but this time," and before I can do anything, his hands have not only raised my skirt, but lowered my white panties, leaving them stretched across my thighs, framing his target perfectly. "For missing the second deadline, Miss Bailey, you will receive three with the Junior cane. Start the count back at one."
He is lining up this first stroke with the next-size-up cane, I am biting my lip, grateful at least for the brief warm-up afforded to me by his initial use of the smaller cane.
Swish--CRACK!
"Aii! One, Sir!"
The next comes swiftly, and I hardly have time to catch my breath --
Whap! "Two, Sir,"
The third and final stroke is the hardest of all, leaving me breathless and whispering my final count.
"Stay where you are."
No, please, that's it, isn't it? We're done, right? Why are you going back and picking up another cane??
"For all the stress you put yourself through, not to mention your professor, and your partner, you will be receiving one stroke with the Senior cane. As it is just the one, there will be no need to count."
My mind is spinning -- I have never felt a Senior cane before -- not in my life -- even just one stroke with that thick piece of rounded rattan seems unthinkable!
There it is on my skin,
tapping lightly, taking aim. Suddenly it is gone and I know it is coming --
Whoosh--CRACK!
It is all I can do to keep from yowling at the pain -- the sudden fiery line of white that flashes across my skin, just like any other cane but somehow much, much worse. "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry, Love--"
"I know. It's all over now. Come here."
And I am up in his arms, myself again, and we are both grinning from ear to ear at the success of our first role-played scene together, let alone our first real caning!
We got the canes (which we love) from
Cane-iac.com, and they actually included another cane for us as a special surprise -- a straight-handle about the size of the Junior! All are lovely!
Here's to many more role-plays, much more use of the canes, and many more posts thereof! :D
