“Are you complaining, Ginny?”
“Oh, no, Mumsie!” Ginny’s reassurance was hasty. “Is Mrs. Hammill going to watch my bottom get striped?”
“Do you want her to?”
“I don’t mind. Honest! I expect you’d like to, Mrs. Hammill?”
“Of course she does,” said Diana firmly. “Where did you put the cane, dear?”
“There’re several in the second cupboard,” Ginny said absently as though canes were a small matter in a girl’s life. “I say, Mrs. Hammill, you’re not shocked, are you?”
Drusilla was shocked into inanity. “You mean about you being punished?” she asked bemusedly.
The naked youthfulness giggled. “Not about being punished, Mrs. Hammill. I mean about the way Mummy does it?”
“Oh, the cane!” Drusilla eyed the horror Diana was flexing between her hands. “Well, I’m sure your mother knows best.”
“Mummy loves caning my butt,” the tractioned teen explained without rancour. “That’s why she has this room. She calls it my ‘Playroom.’ Daddy thinks I do exercises and things. He doesn’t bother.”
“And you, er—you don’t mind?”
“She’d better not,” Diana said grimly. “Ready, poppet?”
“Yes, Mother. But please... not too hard?”
“Always hard, Ginny. You know that perfectly well.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“D’you want a go at her, Dru’?” Diana proffered the cane.
“Good heavens no!”
Even as she made the declaration, Drusilla was aware of hypocrisy. Ginny’s small, curved, pink bottom was infinitely alluring. Even though the young slenderness stood straight with raised, tied hands it had a life all its own. Its contours were an enticement. She repressed a surge of longing for the cane with desperate guilt.
“Oh, please, Mrs. Hammill” Young, wide eyes looked back appealingly.
“The saucy minx thinks you’ll hit her lighter than I will,” the maternal voice explained, amused.
“Well, she can give me extra then.”
Drusilla could swear there was hope in the moppet’s plea. “How do you know I won’t hit you a lot harder, Ginny?” she asked, her pulse suddenly racing.
“I just don’t think you would, Mrs. Hammill,” Ginny said ingeniously. “Anyway, I’m willing to take a chance.”
“l think I’ll pass, dear.”
“Oh, well,” Ginny sighed resignedly. “O.K., Mother. I’m ready.”
It was cataclysmic. It was beautiful. It was absurd. It was shocking. It was mundane... ! Drusilla heard the cane snicker and cut the air, then beheld the neat, thin bar of scarlet form on the chubby cheeks and raise its proud flesh in acknowledgment of the impact. Ginny’s sweet nakedness vibrated, exuding sensitivity. One of her legs jerked up from the knee... again... and again. Gaspingly, the punished girl accepted stroke two. Her legs, again, making its mute admission of agony.
“Are you able to notice it, Ginny?”
“Oh, Mother!” Ginny’s voice throbbed with hurt reproach. “It’s awful! Much worse than last time. You’re showing off in front of Mrs. Hammill.”
“I’ve got to make you feel it, dear.”
“But you don’t have to cut me in two. Oh, Mumsy... Please?”
“Delightful little moppet, isn’t she!” Diana flexed the cane.
Drusilla knew the adjective inadequate to match the heated surge within her loins. The naked Ginny was pure beauty. A strapped sylph, she was elemental in her agony.
“Please, Mummy dear, not so hard?” The youthful plea was anxious.
“That’s a bit rough on the poor kid, isn’t it!” Drusilla’s protest was insincere. Guiltily, she knew she had no wish for the caning of the impudent cheeks to end, or even to be less severe.
“All right, you give her a few, then.” Diana offered hospitably.
“Please, Mrs. Hammill. I wouldn’t mind. Honest!” Drusilla never knew if it was her own overwhelming need or the naivete or the youngster’s request that gave her the courage to accept the cane. With heaving breasts, she sliced the air in a wide arc. Then watched her own personal brand proclaim itself across the innocent rump.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hammill.” Ginny sounded truly grateful.
“You’ll have to do better than that, darling.”
Drusilla did better. A fierce new exhilaration set every nerve afire. Her arm seemed endowed with the speed of light. This time Ginny gasped more satisfyingly and her leg paid its homage to the pain.
“Oh, gee, Mrs. Hammill, that was—Woo... Woo... Oooo’” Ginny contrived to mix pain and adoration in a strange blend.
“I bet you’ve done it before,” Diana accused.
“No! Oh, no!” Drusilla denied. “Here, take it back. That’s enough.” She was trembling. “I think it’s enough for Ginny, too.”
The maternal hand took back the instrument of punishment. The maternal voice admonished sternly: “Tell her; Ginny.”
“I have to have ten strokes,” Ginny said politely, her voice a couple of octaves lower than before.
“I think it would be nice for Mrs. Hammill to hear you ask for them, dear. Ask properly.”
Ginny gulped and took a deep breath. Her fingers worked desperately above the straps that fastened her wrists to the bar. “I’ve been a naughty girl.” she declared in a bolstered voice. “So I’ve been sentenced to ten strokes with the cane. I’ve had four ... or I think It’s four,” she amended hopefully. “Now will you please give me the other six?”
“Well done!” Diana sounded proud. “You’re getting off with one light one but I’m not going to quibble.”
“Thank you, Mummy.”
It explained so much. The cheerful teenager everyone liked. The mother-daughter togetherness so often remarked... Or did it? Everything in her world had gone topsy-turvy. Drusilla watched, panting, while number five and six etched Ginny’s skin and extracted Ginny’s gasps When the strapped slenderness lifted itself from the floor in a paroxysm of pain, she felt obliged to ask:
“Don’t you think the poor girl’s had enough?”
“Tell her again, dear.”
The delinquent daughter responded anxiously. “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Hamill. It does hurt quite a lot, so I do silly things and make silly noises. I’m awfully sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, dear. I think you’re wonderful.”
“I know I ought to stand quite still and not make a fuss, but it really is quite painful.” Ginny sounded helpfully contrite. “But I’ve only got four more to go. I’ll try real hard.”
“She’s a good kid,” said Diana with maternal pride.
“Here, I’ll show you something.”
“Oh, Motherrrrrr!”
Drusilla shared the childish embarrassment as Diana cupped her daughter’s sex in a knowing hand and exhibited the glistening wet palm to their fascinated guest. “The little sweetheart actually enjoys every stroke.” she said complacently. “Just bothers her a bit when they land.”
Drusilla eyed the evidence and felt sorry for the girl, who, this time, did not look back over a wrenched shoulder. A moment later it was she herself who gasped in shock as Diana’s other hand slipped inside her panties to make a similar test. Feeling betrayed, she gazed down at a hand that was very wet indeed.
“Don’t play the innocent, darling,” Diana was laughing at them both.
“But it’s all so—so—”
“Incredible?”
“Yes, it is. I mean, I’ve never—never—”
“Never had a daughter to practice on? Don’t worry, Dru’, it works both ways. Wait ’til you get whipped.”
“Oh, Mummy, are you going to whip Mrs. Hammill?”
Ginny was galvanized into vivid excitement.
“I will if she wants me to.” Diana’s eyes were dancing at the interplay. “But right now I’m going to whip you.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ginny stood very straight and very still. The cane smacked home. Ginny neither moved or gasped.
“little Trojan, isn’t she!” Diana exclaimed with pride.
“Lets see if she can stand this one.”
Drusilla wanted to protest, but she was in the grip of a stronger will. This time the caned child responded by the kicking of her leg and a barely audible whimper. The final strokes sent her into wild gyrations against her bindings and the utterance of small, strangled sounds of which she was obviously ashamed.