Link to my website - gallery - spank me

Friday, October 15, 2010

My first caning

My web site tells of the first experience of getting the cane from our games teacher at school.  Many of you, dear readers, have asked to know more about it. As the experience is so vivid in my memory, it's no effort to recall the details. At school, games was one of my favourite activities, and I was never happier than when playing in matches. The games teacher was in her thirties, married, had children, and took games part time. She was no battle-axe, so punishments did not figure large in her repertoire of teaching skills, but she was pretty tight on discipline, so us boisterous girls were bound to get into trouble sooner or later.

Her 'weapon of choice' was a rubber soled gym shoe, the 'AK47' of private school discipline. Punishments were delivered after matches while we were having our showers. If a girl deliberately fouled another player, was caught cheating during a game, or some other unsporting offence, the teacher would call out the name of the guilty party. Said named and shamed girl would, still dripping wet, go to the end of the shower room and bend down and touch her toes.

Now as you might expect, during her school years, your favourite girl had experienced many an intimate acquaintance between the sole of a gym shoe and the cheeks of her botty. Dormitory patrol, after lights out, by the duty screw (or teacher as they preferred to be known) would often yield of crop of miscreants, eating sweets, reading forbidden magazines, sending texts to friends, or even consuming contraband alcohol. Offenders would be made to bend over for a dose of the gym shoe over their pyjamas. But somehow, I always managed to avoid looking remorseful, and with a bit of cheek or a smirk on my face, managed to motivate the teacher to amplify my share of the punishment. The feel of my pj's being pulled down and baring my bottom was a great thrill, as it still is! Then accompanied by a chorus of gasps from the rest of the dorm', there followed the distinctive sound of the gym shoe being applied to my soft girlish derriere.

A gym shoe certainly stings, but when applied, after games, to a bottom still wet from a shower, the experience reaches a whole new spectrum, in short, it bloody well hurts!

It was once said that the conflicts of the world were fought on the playing fields of Eton. Whoever wrote that had not seen, normally well behaved girls, play with unbridled aggression in netball or hockey! It was rumoured that the girls' school hockey finals at Wembley, had rougher play than any football Premier League grudge match. But our school was different. Enduring the experience of contact between hard rubber and wet botty, while touching your toes, works wonders for ensuring good conduct on the playing field! If this was not a sufficient deterrent to errant ways, it was nothing compared to the consequences that befell anyone misbehaving in a match with a visiting team from another school. The games teacher was determined to maintain the reputation of the school, and so ensured this by increasing the level of punishment for any serious misdemeanours. This meant only one thing, the cane. It may have only happened a few times a year but was most effective for all that.

Caning was never done in the showers. The condemned damsel would shower and dry off, and dressed just in her towel would report to the games office. This 'office' was really just a changing room for the games staff, with its own showers. But it had a table and chairs, so maybe that's why it got called the office. Most of the girls had never seen a caning, except those who had suffered one! Oh, for those brave enough to hang about in the corridor near the office, a caning could be heard, and that was bad enough. The swish of the cane through the air, followed by the snap of rattan against sweet young cheeks, especially if followed by a wail from the recipient, sent a chill down the spine of the audience. Any girl returning to the changing room with six red stripes across her bum, guaranteed the rest of us played fair for the rest of the term!

My turn came on the day of a tournament against visiting schools. A number of matches were held, and tensions were running high with each school bent on victory. It was in the second half of a match in which we were leading. In response to a pass, I jumped to catch the ball, but feeling a stab of pain in my side, dropped it. A girl in the other team who was marking me, had just delivered a punch to my kidneys. I whirled round and gave her an elbow in the ribs, shouting 'f**k you' as I did so. The whistle went, play stopped, and the referee came over. The inevitable happened and we were both sent off.

Equally inevitable were the consequences. I was to report to the office. With a lump in my throat the size of a cooking apple, I showered and dried off. The showers were very quiet that afternoon, with me getting concerned looks from the other girls. Of course, dear reader, yours truly had acquired a reputation for taking punishments in my stride, but I was about to enter a new league. Wrapped only in my towel I padded down the corridor to the office. Going in I was surprised to see the games teacher was not alone. The games teacher from the other school was there, and so was the girl who punched me, like me dressed only in a towel. My look of confusion was answered instantly by our games teacher. Apparently the other teacher had seen what happened, and had asked that her girl receive the same punishment. Well, it was fair of the other teacher, but not surprisingly my mind was focused on the instrument now being flexed in the hands of our games teacher. My legs started to quiver, as they still do when I see a cane about to be used on my rear end.

The teacher told me to remove the towel and bend over with my hands on the seat of a chair in the middle of the room. The lump in my throat had gone, to be replaced by very large butterflies zooming around in my stomach. I was grateful for being able to be dealt with first, so the other girl had to watch my punishment, before getting her own. I removed the towel and went straight to the chair and bent over. As my hands gripped the side of the seat, I felt very anxious, but ready to take my punishment. Six strokes followed, with little delay between. All I knew was the pain started with the first stroke and got worse with each that followed. When it was over, I stood and rubbed my botty for all I was worth. The other girl's face was completely white, and I was glad that mine was first. As I watched she got the same six strokes, and though the teacher was not caning hard, on our soft girly cheeks it still hurt like billy-oh. Being dismissed, I left the office to see a crowd of girls in the corridor, still spellbound at the sound of the two punishments. On returning to the changing room, there followed an inspection of my stripes with intense comments of admiration from the other girls

Within a few days the red marks faded, but by that time most of the senior school had viewed them in awe. Yes, dear reader, I was one of only a dozen or so girls in the school who had been caned, but also was already starting to wonder how long it would be before I could take another dose of the rattan devil! It was four more times in all before I left. Oh, there were other punishments, with the gym shoes, and leather straps, of course, each delivering its sublime dose of pleasure.

Spanking has been part of my life ever since, but I strictly ration myself, because I want each punishment to be completely real. After all, a punishment that isn't a punishment, isn't a punishment!

If you feel that this girl deserves some more discipline and you would like to apply it yourself, then just give me a call on 07515 007 720 or email naughtycatherine@gmail.com. My website is at www.naughtycatherine.org

Friday, May 21, 2010

Hawaii, or sailing into trouble! Part 1

'Hawaii' said the booker at my agency, 'Nice!' I replied. 'It's yachts she said, 'Ooo, even nicer!' I replied. That's how yours truly was sent almost halfway around the World to the wonderful islands that make up Hawaii. Now I don't know much about boats, but these yachts, were just delicious. Me, I could never afford one, and only know a few who could, but it was nice to get close to something luxurious, even though Mr Abromovich would regard them as a dinghy! Now, I did soon learn something about the marketing of yachts. If you go into WHSmiths and browse the sailing magazines, its pretty common to find pictures of boats being sailed by Richard Geere look-alikes, with a pair of 15 year olds in white bikinis sunning themselves on the front (or is that prow?). Take a look next time. However the more upmarket yachts try for a more subtle approach, as clients wives get to see the brochures, well I say brochure, its more of a very expensively produced coffee table book. These wives can get a bit turned off by teenage eye candy, younger than their own daughters! So makers of this class of product skip the jail-bait sexual imagery, the craft themselves are sexy enough! But even luxury yachts need some human interest, in the guise of us models in matching exclusive sailing fashions. All very Cape Cod

Despite a stopover in Seattle, we girls and the creative crew arrived pretty knackered. As I have written before, we might get to some cracking locations, but its not a holiday. We often get straight into the job, the first morning spent with the make up girls trying to hide the bags under our eyes! And its a challenge for the photographers trying to get us to hold a pose when we are yawning so wide the shot looks like a dentistry manual. The owner of the yacht building company clearly had ancestral roots as a native Hawaiian. But the usual sunny outlook of the Hawaiian people was replaced with the pleasant if taciturn expression of a successful businessman. When he smiled it was genuine, but most of the time gave little of his thoughts away. He rejoiced under the name of George, and clearly was not someone to play poker with. He was no fool, and when he saw our jetlagged band, immediately suggested a little R&R. He arranged for three of his boats to take us out for a trip on the first day. The sky was beautiful, but the sea was quite rough, and a few of our band fell victim to 'mal de mer'. One of the photographers decided to try some action shots, and arranged for my friend Pippa to hold the wheel, legs braced apart, hair streaming in the wind, holding a gaze to the far horizon. The truth was her enigmatic, detached, and faraway expression was simply Pippa's desperation to hang on to the contents of her stomach. The shot looked brilliant and made it to the brochure. Pippa says every time she sees that picture, she feels sick all over again!

In fact the action shots that day looked about the best we took. The creative director, Clive, got very precious because we had not had make up and hair done. With a 'gale' blowing, and stacks of spray about we had a windswept freshness about us. And let's face it, seawater spray and make up do not go together. By the way, another trade secret of the yacht marketing trade: Most 'action' shots are shot in a studio, and the sea added afterwards! The shoot was spread over several days, during which we girls got to wear some stunning clothes. George was ever present, and showed a shrewd understanding of our art, making a number of super suggestions for set-ups. He succeeded in making us look as though we really did know how to sail.

Now, when it comes to modelling clothing, it's necessary to have particular attention to undies. Take a look at women anywhere in fine weather. Nearly always there is an outline of bras and pants, can't be helped with thin fabrics. Even the waistband of a thong might show under a clinging fabric. We models have a secret way to prevent our undies showing, we don't wear any! You must have seen documentaries on the fashion industry, with behind the scenes shots at fashion shows, and photo shoots. The girls are all in the buff, slipping from one garment to the next. That's how former model, now first lady of France, Carla Bruni wears those figure hugging linen shift styles made for her by Chanel. The fabric drapes over the contours of her shoulder blades, and down over the georgeous curves of her bottom. There's is only one way she achieves that perfect look, wear nothing underneath except a slim thong. Notice how she always stands with her shoulders back, it helps to keep her boobs nice and pert.

But I digress. We used the cabins as changing areas, avoiding going on deck in the niddy nuddy. Our photocrews were used to us being unclad, but in consideration of the sailing crew and a desire not to attract half the male population of Hawaii, we needed to be covered when on deck. George kindly provided us all with waterproof sailing gear which was a very practical idea. Actually, George said his sailing crews had seen it all. New customers often went on trial cruises on one of George's boats before buying one. He said it was quite common for the wife or daughters of prospective customers to sunbathe on deck. On one memorable occasion, the very haughty wife of the millionaire prospect was a statuesque blond, straight out of the pages of Vogue. Once they were at sea she waltzed up on deck, dressed only in a bikini bottom, which she peeled off and then lay down in full view of all!. Unfazed, her hubby just carried on listening to George describing the finer points of handling the boat!
  
On one afternoon, between changes, I was wearing one of the thigh length sailing coats over my birthday suit. While I made my way down the swaying deck, a sudden lurch caused a loss of balance. I reached up and grabbed one of the stays holding the mast. In those few seconds one of the photographers caught the moment. When processed that shot showed me reaching up to grab the stay, with my bottom displayed in all its glory! They framed that picture and gave it to George! Cool as ever, he accepted it politely, and had it hung in what was called the 'Club Room', a cross between a showroom and a very exclusive sailing club bar for entertaining prospective customers.
  
On the last evening, the final set piece shoot was to be a 'dockside party' scene, with the sun setting over the water. We were togged up in our party gear, looking very Southampton. (Not Hampshire UK, Long Island NY). Wardrobe had decked me out in a classy outfit including a pair of Jimmy Choo high heels, which I was warned to return undamaged. Knowing that the photo shoot 'party' was likely to become a real last-night bun-fight, I took the precaution of taking a 'cardie' and a pair of lovely, soft leather, flat soled pumps that I bought locally for a fraction of what they would have cost at home. Strolling down the dockside, I remembered having left my camera on the boat that we had been using that afternoon. I nipped up the gangplank and crossed the deck towards the cabin. There was this very loud and angry shout from behind me. I turned and saw George, absolutely puce with rage, shouting for me to stand still. Given that this man had always been Mr Cool, I froze immediately. He followed my path looking at the deck as he went. By the time he got to me he was boiling. Then he let me have it with 'both barrels'. I had just broken one of the dockyards cardinal rules, never, ever, to walk on the teak decks with hard soled shoes, or in my case high heels. There were signs everywhere, even on the gangplank. I looked down and could see what he meant. Sure enough right across the deck were neat little dents from my heels. (Houston, we have a problem!).

I had sinned, big time! Rather too late, of course, I stepped out of my shoes. George, was livid, because, he said, the cost of repairing the marks was humungous! Also he had a customer for the boat which was soon to be delivered, and could not sell the boat like this. Oh dog do do!  I told him the agency was insured and that all costs would be covered. That didn't help much. George sternly announced that he was going to speak to the location director. (Oh not good news at all, my dears!). As he crossed to the gangplank, leaving me quaking, George called over his shoulder, "I hope he gives you a tanning". Well dear reader, I took this to mean that he was less concerned that my arms and legs acquired a sensuous shade of brown, than my backside acquiring a bright shade of red!  Now, you know that your favourite girl never misses an opportunity to use her derriere to get out of a spot of bother. This was an awfully big lot of bother. So as he got to the gangplank, I called after him "George, you should be the one doing the tanning". He stopped, turned, and still glaring furiously, came back towards me. Before he said anything, I repeated what I had called out. No reaction, but through clenched teeth he hissed "Are you jerking me around?". I realised he thought that it was a tease. Saying nothing, I reached into my bag and took out one of the pair of pumps. Holding it around the heel section, I slapped the palm of the other hand with the leather sole. No reaction. I turned slightly and made to spank my rump with the sole of the shoe. George raised an eyebrow. (Houston, we have lift off!).

From that moment George took control and led me down into the cabin. He sat on one of the side bench seats and I obediently lay over his knee. As he took a hold across my back, I could feel the excitement of the coming spanking, mixed with the nervous anticipation of submitting to a real punishment. His hand felt very hard and had me squirming, letting out gasps and an involuntary 'Ow!'. I can tell you one thing, I was grateful to be still wearing my skirt and undies! When George finally stopped, I barely had a chance to give myself a rub before he asked for one of the pumps from my bag. Still smarting from the effect of his hand, I passed him the shoe, whereupon he pointed to the chart table and told me to bend over it. Well, this was one of those times that yours truly did exactly as she was told, with no argument.



Now to my complete astonishment, he lifted my skirt, folding it over my back. I was wearing satin french knickers, and in a second he pulled them down, and they fluttered sensuously against my legs to settle in a silken heap at my ankles. Dear reader, you will know that this situation is very special to me. The moment when my botty is completely bare, and about to experience the effect of some real discipline, a buzz goes through me. Again, there was the added anxiety of this being a strict punishment, of which my bottom was already only too aware! Shortly the cabin resounded to the sound of leather being applied to naked flesh, with my audible response to the stinging of each one. Eventually George was satisfied that my punishment was over, and I was permitted to straighten up. When I turned he appeared to have regained his usual composure, and slipping on his jacket, turned to leave, saying he hoped to see me at the party. My precious derriere was very tender indeed, and I was even careful pulling up my silk knickers. I restored my make up and headed back to join the others at the after-shoot party. Dear reader, you will not be surprised to hear that I now remembered to carry my high heeled shoes across the deck!

When I arrived at the party, I was greeted by George, as urbane and charming as ever, just as if we had met for the first time that evening. Sarah asked if I had been running, as my face looked flushed. I replied that it was not half as flushed as my backside. (You will know from my earlier blogs that Sarah is a fellow spankee). She flashed a broad grin, and asked who, where, and why. I replied, George, the boat cabin, and walking on deck in high heels. "Oh, Henry! That's mega naughty" she said, now looking concerned, "What was it like?". "Very effective" I replied,"I have learned my lesson on that one!" Sarah grinning again, pointed down. "is that why you are still carrying your high heels?" She was right, they were still in my hand, then suddenly, we both burst out laughing!  The next day everything was packed up and the rest of the girls and location crew headed for the airport. As is often the case, I had done a deal with the hotel to stay on a few days, just so I could see more of the place. I heard a friend was doing a shoot over at Pearl Harbor, and after calling her, decided to head over there.        

Sunday, May 16, 2010

My new web page

Well, I have finally done it! My own website with the domain name; www.naughtycatherine.org. Just click on the link to go straight there. There are lots of pictures of me in various outfits, uniforms, and even in my birthday suit! This blog is linked from there as well. It's only been up a few days and I've had lots of calls and emails. A caller commented that I really appeared to deserve a good spanking. How right he is, this girl deserves every stroke she gets!
My contact details remain the same, mobile 07515 007 720, and email naughtycatherine@gmail.com .

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Corporate Punishment

Here are 2 questions, I get asked.
Q: Do I have spanking experiences on all my photo shoots/modelling trips?
A: No, on most shoots and modelling trips I don’t get that lucky. Normally, its unsocial hours at airports, dawn wake-ups and long days. But, I get to visit some very lovely places, and meet really pleasant people. I always try to take some time off, if somewhere nice, even stay over a day or so at my own expense. You can miss so much of the world if it’s a round of airports, hotels, and locations only. You get home without any memories of the place.

I remember a shoot on an island in the Indian Ocean. It was paradise. At the same time there was another party of models at the hotel, including our very own Kate Moss. I know the woman has done it all before, but she arrived in a limo’ and disappeared into her room, only to emerge each dawn to go to the shoot. When she returned it was back to the room, where she stayed. Her balcony doors remained firmly shut. On the last day, it was straight back from the shoot, and limo’ to the airport. Ok, she had a luxury suite, and flew first class, but she might have been in Belfast for all she saw of the place. There weren’t even many of the press about, so that wasn’t the problem. No wonder she has such bad skin! (All right! miaow, miaow!). Anyway, if I get any spanking action while modelling, you get to hear about it!

Q: Do I get spanked on other occasions.
A: Well actually yes, apart from gentlemen who visit me, there are other occasions when I unexpectedly find myself over a knee, panties round my ankles, being given some sound discipline. It was because of this question, I thought that you might like to hear about one such occasion, resulting in my bottom getting some well deserved attention. So read on about my Corporate Punishment.



Geoff is the PR manager for a company that sells office equipment. His company have an annual event where the sales force receive awards for achieving targets. It takes place at a hotel in London, on a Friday night, with the awards being presented after a dinner. Geoff asked if I would help by presenting the awards. It all seemed a bit of a lark, and the fee was attractive, so I was up for it.

The evening arrived, and I turned up in a designer dress (borrowed, of course, models and actresses never actually buy these clothes!). The event started with drinks before dinner, and there was quite an atmosphere of expectancy. What was so special? Who could get exited about an award of a ‘Weekend for Two in Wigan’.

Now, as you all know, I am a very liberal minded girl. If a gentleman makes nice comments about my clothes, or my figure, or even discreetly pats my bottom, I take it as a compliment. Even a mildly saucy comment whispered in my ear, may well get a smile and wink in return. But there was this one guy, who apart from disguising his bad breath with substantial quantities of Stella Artois, was totally lacking of anything like gentlemanly conduct. A handful of my, and several other ladies’, derrieres in vice-like grip does not count as a discreet pat. Hey, we like guys to notice our cleavages, but pressing his nose in so close did nothing to commend him to us girls. His poor wife did not know what to do.

Once we went in to dinner I was able to escape to the safety of the company chairman’s table. It was his big do, and enjoyed playing the host. He was really very polite and charming, and told some funny stories which no doubt got trotted out every year. His wife was very pleasant, but just a teensy bit old for Spandex ( Ok, Miaow, again, I know that deserves a good spanking for!). The dinner was typical of a London hotel, predictable and bland, but yours truly tucked in anyway. People are always astonished at the amount of food I eat, and yet keep my figure. Its all those hours of running and working out at the gym that does it, boys.

The dinner finished, and the speeches started. It was the usual load of self congratulation and dodgy humour, so we slipped off to organise the prizes. When the last words were spoken everyone subsided into a vaguely alcoholic trance, broken only by guffaws at yet more unfunny exchanges.

The moment for the presentations arrived. We stood on a raised platform, at one end of the room. The evening’s compere, who looked like a younger Brucie, started off the carnival with some smooth words of introduction. The compere introduced each prize, describing its category. As the name of the lucky winner was called, they came forward onto the platform and I gracefully gave them a full, beaming smile, and delivered the coveted award.

When all the prizes were gone, the compere rounded up by thanking everyone bar the office cleaner. Finally he said, “ I know you would like me to thank the lovely Catherine for bringing such grace to the prize giving”. Well, at that moment my outrageous sense of humour got the better of me. So I walked up to the microphone, and with a big smile, started speaking. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was along these lines:-
“ I would like to thank the company for inviting me. However I feel the evening would not be complete without one extra award”. There was silence. “ In a class of his own, no one could beat Charlie Rankin for the ‘Slob of the Year’ award!” There was uproar. A number of people, and most of the wives, stood up and applauded, others just laughed or cheered, there were whistles and cat-calls. The chairman and sales director went purple, the chairman’s wife rocked with laughter, but, more worrying, Geoff looked like a condemned man. Dear reader, it was clearly time for me to make a hasty retreat, so I headed for the cloakroom, and home.

Now, if this was a Victorian novel, following the fall from grace of the heroine, there would be a chapter called ‘The Consequences’. And consequences there were.

The following morning I was not surprised to get a phone call from Geoff. Apparently, after I left there was complete chaos. The chairman, who was beside himself with indignation, very nearly fired Geoff on the spot. But the chairman’s wife, using her long-experienced, and no doubt wily skills, managed to persuade the old boy to note of the way the staff had reacted. He was still annoyed but took the matter to heart. Now I have always been told that the most influential person in any company is the chairman’s wife! How true that is! Geoff went on to say that my prank was highly irresponsible, and nearly cost him dear. Sensing a need to make amends, I suggested he come over that afternoon.

Having just returned to the flat after a run I was still in my Lycra top and shorts. I had allowed enough time for a quick shower before Geoff was due. But he arrived early. I opened the door and he entered, pushing the door shut behind him. I sensed that your favourite girl was about to get her come-uppance! Afraid so! Taking my arm he led me into the flat and with few words I was pulled over his lap. Taking a firm grip of my waist he began spanking me, quite moderately at first, but then over several minutes, building up the force of each impact. Before long I could feel my bottom getting very warm. Any attempt at movement was prevented by his strong grip, and now each time his hand landed, I let out an “Ow!”. I was grateful to still have my running shorts on as they reduced the sting of his hand. When eventually freed, I stood up and gave myself a good rub. My botty was really burning, and I have to confess it was really pleasurable! I felt a bit smug. Well, that’s it then, all forgiven, tea and bickies, and we all go home! But, I was wrong, oh yes indeed. Geoff announced that I deserved a more serious and effective punishment. Now that, I admit, made me quite anxious. Tilting my head on one side, I gave him my very best pleading eyes, but to no avail.

“Right my girl” said Geoff, “You deserve a good caning”

Well, as my readers know, the mere mention of the word ‘cane’ and my anxiety reaches new levels. My stomach gets full of butterflies and my knees quiver. Its always been like this, since the very first time. At Geoff’s instruction I obediently bent over the coffee table, as he went over to the corner where the implements are kept. He returned carrying a thick cane. ( As a matter of interest, this is a cane made by John of Baker St, in London. Its a work of art, as all John’s canes are. Each is expertly crafted, and carefully adjusted for feel and length, to give a near perfect balance, which helps the accuracy.) Geoff placed the cane on the table.

“ A good caning on the bare bottom” said Geoff.

Moving behind me, I felt him grip the waistband of my lycra running shorts. Stretching the waistband, he peeled the clingy fabric over the cheeks of my bottom, and down the thighs, until finally, the shorts fell to my ankles. I was wearing cotton panties, and I felt the material slip away as these too were pulled down my thighs, and joined the shorts at my ankles. (Even in moments like this, dear reader, the ritual of taking down my panties or knickers always gives yours truly a real buzz! )

But, as Geoff had said, this was to be the more serious and effective punishment I deserved.

‘Serious’, too right! When I am getting the cane it is serious, the impact of rattan on the curves of my sweet derriere is a very serious matter!

‘Effective’, on the button there as well. In a very short while, that cane would magic up all manner of regrets and remorse about my behaviour! (Let me tell you, that when in schoolgirl role, and the headmaster is caning me, I experience real regrets about not doing the make-believe homework! Canes effective, oh yes, very effective!)

‘Deserved’, well, not so sure. Ok, ok, guys, so I probably deserved it! And to be honest I’m lucky not to be touching my toes for this one!

No escaping it, I was about to experience the profound effect of one of John’s stout canes, firmly applied to my completely bare, and very exposed, bottom. The butterflies in my tummy were now doing summersaults in formation!

Let me explain something. With other commitments, I don’t get spanked as often as I would wish. Some girls get lots of spanking ‘exercise’, and this helps them build up a high tolerance to the pain of being spanked. When getting a sound spanking, strapping, paddling or caning, I really feel it, and rely on my considerable natural enthusiasm for submitting to the noble art of corporal punishment. It’s a real pleasure for this girl, if a punishment leaves a red and hot bottom. Now, the cane is the ultimate implement, and I find it supremely painful to take. My squeals, ouch’s, and gasps, are all 100% genuine. But when its over, the red stripes, with a feeling of soreness, is just the ticket! On the other hand bruises and weals, just don’t do it for me, at all. I leave that sort of thing to girls who get their ‘exercise’ daily. Gentlemen who visit me say my genuine response to punishment is what makes me different. That doesn’t stop them giving me a very sound spanking though!

To return to my account of Corporate Punishment. Here I am, shorts and panties around my ankles, nervously awaiting my fate. As Geoff adjusts his position, I can feel the light brush of the cane against my bare botty. Any second now that cane will have quite a different feel, so my eyes were glued to his shadow on the floor. He paused, I waited for what seemed ages. Then the shadow changed as his arm drew back. I forced myself to relax just before the first stroke landed, across both cheeks. I let out a gasp, then another, then another. I was mightily relieved that after every 3 strokes, he paused to rub my bottom. (Now, dear reader, here is a tip. If you are punishing a girl, with hand or implement, stop to give a rub regularly. We really appreciate it and can cope with longer punishments).

After twelve accurate strokes, each accompanied by the appropriate sounds of my discomfort, I felt duly chastised. After Geoff left, I could not resist a look at my bottom in the mirror. Clear red stripes and a hot stinging feeling. They were still there after my shower, and I just stood looking at them. As Geoff had said it was a most effective and deserved punishment!

Next would be the chapter in the book, now that your heroine, was duly chastened, called ‘Redemption’.

The following Monday the company chairman sent for Charlie Rankin, who was well and truly carpeted. Then the chairman having regained his sense of humour, playfully suggested to Geoff that I deserved a good spanking! (cheeky!) Geoff joked that perhaps the chairman would like to do it himself! (Now, that is a good idea!) Even the chairman’s wife suggested that I present a ‘Slob of the Year’ award, next year just to keep the lads on their best behaviour. ( I start to warm to this woman, she can wear as much Spandex as she likes!) So all ended well, dear reader, but it probably won’t be long before yours truly is getting into trouble all over again!

To see some pictures of me, just go to my web page by clicking on www.naughtycatherine.org
There you will find all my contact details