Skirt Lifted Vol. 1 (3 page)

Imogen almost fired back with a snotty;
“bloody hell, you’re the one tanning my ass, it’s your fault for
all the noise!” but she managed to not make the rude remark as it
would have only made it all that much worse.

Her father pushed the hem of her dress
further up her back, nudged her to bend lower for the rest of her
caning which he laid on rather firmly and left her in tears.

Given permission to stand Imogen clutched her
red, raw ass and quietly sobbed.  Her dad had left her there
to contain herself.  With a little cringe she pulled up
panties and swore under her breath at the sting in her hind
end.

My neighbor, an older Bengali woman named
Rani had mentioned to me that she was having trouble with her
nineteen year old granddaughter Riya. It appeared that Riya had
recently become employed at a bank as a teller and in her free time
was parting with her coworkers all snobbish sophisticates. Riya it
seemed was becoming much to stuck up for her grandmother to handle
– a little bitch who needed to be taught a lesson.

I told Rani about how I had occasionally had
to give my niece Gisela a caning when she came for a visit. Rani
didn't appear to be surprised infact I think that she must have
known about this now that I think of it.

The older Indian lady wondered if I might
help her with her granddaughter and I agreed if only so that I
could take full appreciation of the exotic looking nubile Riya bent
over for a sound thrashing with my whippy rattan.

Riya is a girl of 5'4", she has full round
breasts that always seem to be bulging out of her halter tops, and
piercing almond shaped eyes and the nicest olive complexion that I
have ever seen. Its hard not to look as she gets into her
Volkswagen dressed in a suit jacket and tiny pinstriped skirts with
feet clod in thick strappy heals.

Riya arrived at my door a few hours later
freshly home from the bank. She said that her grandmother had
explained to her what we had spoken of.

The girl was positively shaking and she would
not look me in the eyes. I could see tears welling up in her kajal
accentuated eyes. She kept switching her weight from thick heal to
thick heal.

Eventually as we talked I managed to get Riya
to admit that she had become a little snobbish of late and that
perhaps she did deserve to be punished for neglecting her
grandmother. I explained to her that since she agreed that she
should return to tomorrow (Saturday) dressed as she would for work
and I would administer her thrashing then. Riya asked with
concern exactly what her thrashing would consist of. I told that to
be effective that it must be both painful and contain an element of
humiliation. I would begin first by taking her over my lap and
giving her swats with an old boot sole – the severe caning would
follow with her gripping the seat of a chair butt turned up.

The nineteen-year-old frowned looking like a
doe caught in headlights.

It was afternoon when Riya returned. I let
her in and lead her to the sitting room where I had placed an
embroidered changing stool.

She was dressed in a tight gray skirt cut
much to low for the workplace, though I had seen her leave for her
job in such before. A matching jacket covered her sleeveless white
top beneath which I could just make out her brown nipples – she
seemed to not be wearing a bra.

I lifted the inch think boot sole and sat on
a chair. First I told Riya to remove her suit jacket then I told
her to come over and bend over my knee.

Hesitantly Riya lowered herself over my lap.
I pushed her tight pinstriped skirt up to the small of her back
giving me a view of her shapely bottom encased in a gossamer white
pair of panties.

Bringing the boot sole down as hard as I
could Riya let out a yelp. She clawed into the rug with her French
manicured nails as I walloped soundly with the leather sobbing and
pleading for it all to end.

Once I thought her butt was well tanned I
stood her up and adjusted the hem of her skirt. Riya began to rub
her throbbing ass and her face contorted in pain every time she
touched the seat of her skirt.

If she thought that the leather had hurt she
was in for a big surprise. It did dawn on her to ask how many
strokes of the cane she would be getting. I explained to her that
as she had been a very naughty young woman, she deserved no less
than her age plus two strokes.

Moving over to the changing stool I told her
to lift her skirt back which she did without any complaints. Then I
told her to lower her panties, this she was not so ready to do. But
I explained that a proper caning needed to be upon the bare flesh
and added that before the strokes were over she would want her
bottom bare as the fabric of her panties would irritate the welts
from the rod.

With some grimacing she dropped the clingy
panties adjusted her stance and bent over gripping the edge of the
stool her dark hair hung forward over her tear stained face.

I told Riya she had to do only one thing,
maintain her position or else earn another stroke.

Slashing the cane through the air I watched
the young Bengali girl flinch and almost jump out of place even
though the cane had yet to bit into her tender flesh.

A few more times I slashed the cane in the
air intending to take her by surprise and indeed the first stroke
brought an ear shattering howl, the next couple cuts landed in her
more sensitive areas close to her sex which was on full
display.

It was becoming harder for Riya to keep in
place and more than once she almost jumped up but gripped fiercer
to the stool.

My intent was to make her keep control of
herself and no matter the pain get out-of-place. However number
nineteen she jumped and had to reposition herself again so I added
another stroke right where I had just slashed and she gave a deep
moan. At twenty-two she did the same and I ended with one very hard
cut across the fullness of her rear end.

After about a day Riya came knocking at my
door again. She said she had talked with her grandmother and both
thought it would be a good idea that from now on she should
continue to make visits to me for attitude adjustments. I agreed
and Riya has spent many a weekend day bent over being thrashed. She
has even begun to keep a book of her misdeed.

Five-feet seven inches Jaylin’s long
nut-brown hair was always neatly piled up on her head.  Oval
wire-framed glasses that rested nicely on her small button nose
helped bring out the color of her striking blue eyes. Ms
Matthews worked with me in my home office keeping everything ship
shape as it were. That is to say, Ms. Matthews was my
personal assistant, my secretary, also my daughter Tera’s best
friend.

It was 8:15 Am and I sat in my chair reading
my newspaper and drinking coffee.  Jaylin was twenty minutes
late, the third time this week, but I didn't worry about it. 
Its Friday and Ms Matthews knows what to expect when she shows up
today.

Rushing down the stairs Jaylin came into the
office and came to an abrupt stop when she saw me sitting in my
leather chair reading. “Sorry sir.” Jaylin blurted out. 
“I know I’ve been late alot this week.” She looked down at her
black strappy shoes, her hands dropping to the sides of her tight
short business skirt.  Under a form fitting but simple gray
sweater top two perky nicely shaped breasts stand out.

“We’ll handle that in a moment Ms Matthews.”
I say and glance back at my paper.  I see out of the side of
my vision that she nodes and goes over to a corner of the
room. Returning to where she had previously been standing
Jaylin is now holding a straight eight-foot long rattan cane.

After a moment I go over to Jaylin and take
the rattan she's holding.  We’ve done this often, weekly and
enough to make a routine of it.  I place a hand on Jaylin’s
back, guide her forward without needing to issue a
command. Jaylin takes her hold of her ankles above the straps
of her black pumps, a corkscrew of brown hair breaks free and
dangles just above the maroon rug of the home office.

Behind Ms Matthews I take hold of the hem of
her tight skirt and pull it up over her hips to the small of her
back, exposing an inviting sight of two nicely curved thighs and
buttocks calling to be caned, encased in black thong
panties. I grasp the sides of Jaylin’s thong, and then slowly
pull the panties down to just below her hips.  Then I take the
rattan and rest it in the cleft of her ass, returning to my chair,
so I can complete my newspaper and coffee.

From my chair I hear Ms Matthews sigh, yet
say nothing.  I watch her keep that lovely little nose pointed
toward the floor.  She breathes steadily, patiently awaiting
me to administer her thrashing. “What do you and Tera have
planned for this evening?” at last I ask.

“Clubbing sir.” Jaylin says with the
slightest hint of anticipation in her sing-song, sweet voice.

Coffee and paper done, I get up and reach for
the cane, Jaylin noticeably stiffens as I stand behind her with the
rod.  Her thighs become taught and she grasps more firmly to
her ankles, almost holding the straps of her shoes. Taping the
rattan on her pert, out thrust tan ass I then raise it up above my
head to only slash down with the full strength of my right
arm. There is a gasp but no other outcry from Jaylin as the
stroke connects with her firm bottom cheeks.

The next stroke bounces off the underside of
her thighs and this rewards me with a tiny aborted cry. 
Stroke three quickly followed, producing a very girly yelp from the
young woman subject to the cane. Four and five land in
succession being met by restrained grunts and gasps and I must
admit that they were pretty hard the rattan bending around the
curves of her thighs I am impressed that Jaylin managed to hold her
place.

Jaylin now openly crying forces herself to
hold her place, she knows that getting up or swearing will only
lead to extra strokes and that they will be doubly as hard as what
she is already getting.

Ridged welts crisscross Jaylin’s tight
bottom, she flinches and clenches her cheeks together in a vain
attempt to conceal her womanly virtues but the inviting pink pussy
is well on display for me and as always I feel my own desires
rise.

Whimpering, waiting for the next cut Jaylin
rocks back and forth slightly in her place.

Tapping the tip of the cane on the highest
peek of her ass I snap it back and am admiralty pleased by the
result of my efforts.

“FUCK!” Jaylin cries out.

I note that the last stroke produces a nasty
looking purplish weal.

Sobbing and speaking through her perfectly
white teeth Jaylin says: “I’m sorry sir” it is said with the
profound horrific knowledge that she has added three extra strokes
to her dozen.

I give her the next three strokes firmly,
landing them over her rounded bottom, one after the next Jaylin
only cries and holds her ankles with a steadfast grip.

We have at last reached the final three of
her original caning and these I give with precision, which cause
her to cry out loudly at each one.

Completing my job of her original earned
strokes, I stand and look at my work.  Ms Matthews’s rear end
is expertly marked and I wonder where I shall land her extra three
cuts without doing to much more damage to her shapely ass.

Sniffling Jaylin says: “I’m ready for my
extra sir”

I see her bite her pink lips and add. 
“Please, please do it fast... I know I shouldn’t have said that
naughty word… it just hurts sooo much.” Jaylin pleads.

Doing as Jaylin wishes I give her the extra
strokes at a fast pace, though they are no less hard than the first
twelve cuts of the rod they are in truth much harder since I am
putting the weight of my whole body into each one.  She
whimpers and cries, even at last begs for it all to end. 

I must say that I admire her strength and
endurance.  Over this past year and half Ms Matthews has
become much more able to take her whippings without out to much
disruption or protest.  I think what made it easier was having
the opportunity to witness Tera take a dose of strict discipline
from me more than a few times.

Telling her to stand up and dress herself
Jaylin adjusts her skirt wincing as she pulls it over her bruised
bottom.  It’s going to take some effort to not shift and
fidget in her chair today.

Carefully sitting in her chair, crossing her
long tan legs, the pain of her caning clearly shows on her lovely
face.  Jaylin opens her note pad, taps her pen she even
manages to broadly smile at me then says: “I bet Tera’s in for a
good sound whipping for skipping class yesterday.”

Now I had no idea that Tera had not attended
her college class the other day.  Ms Matthews of course knew
this when she dropped this fact.  I shall attend to my naughty
daughter’s rear with at much precision as I have her friend
Jaylin.

Despite her pain Jaylin smiles and we begin
the workday waiting for Tera to pop her head in to say hello. 
Ms Matthews was lucky she didn’t have an audience for her
punishment Tera won’t be so lucky.

“Good afternoon Jason.” greeted Marcus. 
“Suppers almost ready.”

Stepping into the cottage of his friend Jason
Fields inhaled as he took in the aroma of the rich Sheppard’s
pie.  They were foodies and had met over some exotic fair
during their travels where they learned they happened to share the
same home town.

“Come on, lets go into the kitchen, get a
pint.” enjoined pleasantly the imported Brit Marcus to his young
American friend.

“I’d love something cold, the heats sure on
out here.” Jason remarked meaning the summer weather. They
went into the kitchen, Jason’s mouth fell open, and it had nothing
to do with their cooking meal.