Last weekend our friend Martha and her boyfriend invited us, along with a group of other friends, for a day of kinky chatter and some play. There was a fair crowd of us there, and although not everyone wanted to play, we had a fairly large group of girls in Saturday detention suffering in the hands of three teachers.
The ingenious touch was that the teachers let us fill in our own detention slips out-of-character, and so all the girls could signal by the severity of their offence how hard we wanted to be spanked. In a group where not everybody knows each other very well, this was a good touch. I also liked it because I could join in with the scene even though my pain threshold at the moment is very low.
I resurrected my character from many years ago, Rosemary Sheridan, who seems to end up in reformatories all the time. This time, in St Anne’s Reformatory, she was a meek little creature who was in detention for nothing more audacious than letting somebody copy her work during a test. The other girls had characters of varying degrees of naughtiness, from incorrigible rebels to docile (though still naughty) lambs.
First we were made to stand in a semi-circle and read out our offences in front of everyone. Shy little Rosie nearly died of shame having to go through this, but she was even more appalled to be paired up with a hard-case named Lucy Plackett and handed over to Mr Winchester for a warm-up spanking. This was our punishment for ending up in detention in the first place. The other girls were also spit into twos and threes and whisked away by other teachers. Over the course of about half an hour we were thoroughly spanked, and then handed to the next teacher to continue the warm-up.
I must admit this in writing: the spankings and slipperings were absolutely delicious, just hard enough to be a little bit of a challenge, and yet not so hard that I regretted even starting. When I was being spanked by Mr Jenkins, I must admit to having a wholly inappropriate reaction of a warm and slippery kind; I think Rosie has a crush on that teacher, or something.
The serious part of the punishment came around quickly enough. We had to go into the staff room in groups of two to receive a designated number of strokes for our main offence. Rosie was sentenced to three strokes of the cane from each teacher. As they crowded around me, serious and official in their suits and ties, I felt about five inches tall, and quaked in my black school shoes.
I was bent over the arm of the staff room sofa, and braced myself for the nine strokes. It was amazing to me how different the licks from each teacher felt. Each volley of three hurt, but in a different way: thud, sting, burn – similar, slightly scary sensations, building up to a layer of warmth all over my bottom, and making Rosie a very punished girl.
I think other girls may have got their licks with straps or paddles, but I was very glad to have got the cane, because it’s an implement I most identify with a Saturday detention like this one.
There was some more play later, but after the teachers dealt with the queue of girls, it was the end of detention for us. I wasn’t as sore as I’ve been after other play experiences, but it was a thoroughly satisfying scene, made better by the company of my fellow schoolgirls, so different from their everyday selves, and yet so familiar.