CHAPTER ONE
BEGINNINGS
"The trouble with 'emmett' girls", declared Carl with great
authority, "is that they're too soft. Give them the slightest tap on the bum
and they're howling for mercy. "
Jamie laughed in derision. Carl, who was slightly drunk, did not take kindly to his
friend's scorn. Cornish fishermen are a proud race of men, especially in the pub on
a Saturday night.
"Don't laugh, it's true. When did you last spank an
'emmett's' bum till it was really red?"
"What do you want to spank it for, anyway?" Ian was much less experienced than
the other two, but eager to learn.
"Stimulates the blood circulation. It also gives them security by showing them
their place," replied Jamie.
"Stop trying to change the subject," Carl persisted, sensing victory for his
argument. "Answer the question."
Jamie reflected. He felt that Carl was wrong, but he couldn't offer any real
proof. To really get to work on a girl's derriere required a degree of intimacy
which could not be achieved in the few days that most 'emmetts' (the Cornish
word for non-Cornish people, particularly tourists) spent on holiday in the tiny fishing
village where they lived. Admittedly, there was one girl who often came down on working
holidays who was progressing quite nicely ...
"Now what about that girl who's been hanging around you recently? " Carl
seemed to read his mind. "Superb figure. Bet she'd run a mile if you got a
cane out!"
Jamie hadn't tried, and so couldn't answer. Instead he made a rude reply
about getting something else out, the precise nature of which may be left to the
reader's imagination. This was greeted with loud laughter and an offer to get in the
next round of drinks ensured that Jamie was off the hook. But secretly he resolved to try
to prove Carl wrong.
Referring to seventeen year-old Ali's figure as 'superb' was no
exaggeration. The girl had an athletic body with excellent proportions. She wasn't
skinny and she wasn't fat, being perfectly placed in between those two extremes so
that she had a fine set of curves without an ounce of unwanted fat. Her face was not
classically beautiful, but was very pretty and her character was very likeable. In fact,
her company was very agreeable. Although quite shy in her own way, she had clearly shown
an interest in him, which was fine by him. Under her mature exterior he was sure that
there was a submissive trying to get out and kneel before him.
Knowing that it would be a kindness to help the emergence of this true self of hers, he
had offered to take her out rowing in his boat. She was interested in boating, having
been trying to join the local gig club. (A gig is a long rowing boat crewed by a dozen
rowers.) "But you'll have to do your share of the work," he told her.
"It takes two men to handle that boat properly, but if you put your back into it and
do exactly what you're told, we can manage it. However, you have to listen carefully
and obey precisely and immediately. Discipline is vital aboard ship." Calling his
tiny rowing boat a ship was going a bit far, but she was too enthusiastic to quibble.
He had to admit that she did well. She learned quickly and well, and, whilst she did
not have a man's physical power, she was no weakling. They took the boat well out
from the village harbour towards the deserted coves which made up so much of the
coastline. In tune with the waves lapping gently against the pebbled shore, they both
relaxed, and she made the mistake that, quite frankly, he had been waiting for. A clumsy
movement knocked her oar out of the rowlock and into the sea.
"You idiot! You can't move about like a cow in a milking shed on a boat this
size!" She looked totally crest-fallen and said nothing, lowering her head.
Immediately he knew that he had her where he wanted her. Ideally he would have liked to
deal with her at that moment, but the oar was already starting to drift away and he
thought it best to retrieve it first. "Move to the other side to counter-balance me
as I reach out for it."
It should have been a simple manoeuvre; what went wrong he never found out. Suffice it
to say that he got the oar, but lost the boat. Or, to put it more bluntly, the boat
tipped and he fell in. When he eventually climbed back in, with the oar but soaked
through, she was in fits of giggles. Gradually they subsided as she realised that he was
not amused.
"So much for you being any good in a boat. You're just another useless
emmett. I'll tell the gig club that if they do let you go out with them, they should
all put on swim-suits ready and double the boat insurance. Meanwhile, we'd better go
back before you sink us."
"I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault!
This was the cue for him to launch into a more detailed technical tirade which left her
with head even lower.
"Please give me another chance. I promise I'll do better."
He considered. "Let's see how you handle discipline first. Can you at least
do that?" She nodded, not understanding what he meant. "Good. Kneel down and
bend over that bench."
On hearing that calm, cool instruction her jaw dropped and her mind experienced some
sort of shut-down. She never quite knew what happened in the next few seconds. When her
mind regained equilibrium, or something near it, she found herself, bewildered, in the
position he had described. Her hands and knees were on the floor, her tummy resting on
the wooden bench, and her bottom stuck up in the air. She did not know how she had got
there, but she knew what would happen next. And she couldn't move to avoid it. She
didn't dare.
The first few slaps, delivered calmly at about three or four second intervals,
embarrassed her. By the third, she was becoming aware that they were hurting. By the
sixth, she realised that she was becoming aroused. He was so masterful! By the eighth,
she didn't want him to stop, despite the stinging. He stopped at twelve, although
she wasn't counting. For an age she remained still, not daring to move. Eventually
he told her to get up and face him. No tears showed in her face, but it was beetroot red
beneath her tan. The submissive was now clearly revealed. He spoke in a slightly gentler
voice, but still with an edge: "I suppose I could give you one last chance.
Don't mess it up!" The joy on her face was obvious.
They spent quite a while out there he spanked her, for another technical error, she got
into position without hesitation and stuck her bottom out almost invitingly. By the third
trip, all pretence at finding a genuine excuse to wallop her was dropped by unspoken
mutual agreement; both of them enjoyed it, so every trip included a session. On the first
two occasions she had worn her black tracksuit bottoms - perfect for showing her bum off -
but on later trips she would wear boxer shorts under her jeans or tracksuit bottoms, and
somewhat shyly took the trousers off. Her excellently proportioned legs entranced him.
Also, this enabled him to slap the bare flesh of her thighs. It stung considerably more,
but that and the feel of his hand on her flesh made it even more pleasurable for both of
them.
That, however, was as far as he had got to date. In Jamie's experience, that was
far enough for a while. Only when this started to get boring or tame should he increase
the level of pain. Of course, a bare-bum spanking would be better, but she was much too
'proper' for that. But Carl had got under his skin with his cavalier
generalisation. Jamie wanted to prove him wrong, both for his own satisfaction and in the
girl's defence. Ali could take the cane. He was sure of it. She was brave and
tough enough. But could he convince her? And how could he prove it to Carl afterwards?
There are two ways of introducing a girl to punishment, or taking her to new levels.
One way is to grab her, fling her over the nearest suitable object and set to work with
gusto, ignoring all cries and pleas as being part of the act. Romantics may find this
wonderful, and no doubt many a submissive girl dreams of it. But of course it is fraught
with danger. Even the most dominant, masterful dictator cannot guarantee success, and the
price of failure is enormous. Jamie, like most men, preferred the cautious approach. It
had worked on the boat. He tried it again now. As Ali quietly slipped her bermudas back
on after the latest warming of her posterior, he opened the subject, without mentioning
the conversation with Carl. Ali was not enthusiastic.
"This hurts enough, you know," she said. "I prefer it not to get any
worse. A cane would be hell."
"I thought it might be a bit of a grand finale, since you're going home next
week. When's that boyfriend coming down to collect you, a week on Monday?"
She nodded. "He's not my boyfriend, just a friend. A grand finale ... no,
not really. It would just be a lot more painful."
"Maybe we could do it in a different way."
"Such as?"
Jamie didn't know. The only option he could think of was one he was sure she
wouldn't accept, and it was probably best not to even try it. But Ali, despite
herself, was thinking hard. She had to admit that she had been enjoying these sessions,
and despite herself she wondered what the cane would be like. After all, she had never
dreamed that she would like being spanked! For a while they rowed on, exploring the
coastline largely in silence apart from the waves and the seagulls. Eventually she spoke.
"I don't really feel like the cane," she insisted, "but I think I
could take it if you used it on me in front of a big crowd. Having you control me like
that in front of others would make it exciting enough for me to forget about the horrible
sting. Of course, that's only a fantasy. I realise that it couldn't be
arranged."
"Oh, I don't know." Jamie could not help the broad grin appearing on his
face. He had just realised how he could solve both his problems and beat Carl in
considerable style. Up to now he hadn't for a minute thought that he could get Ali
to bend over in front of witnesses: she seemed far too shy and withdrawn for that. But
her words had given him both the opening and an indication that he might just be able to
talk her into it. Summoning all his persuasive skills, he launched his opening gambit.
"If I can arrange it, will you do it?"
After some consideration, she nodded soberly.
"Well, we have this little club which has a get-together every month or so at this
skittles hall just this side of Penzance. There are usually about thirty or so of us, all
men, from all over the county. No emmetts. It's called the 'Wench Whackers
Ball', and the next meeting is on this Sunday evening. There are usually two or
three girls providing the entertainment." He grinned again. "Guess I'd
better ring them up and add an extra attraction to the list."
Details were discussed. Ali was relieved to hear that no other people that she knew, or
was likely to meet in future, would be present. Jamie decided that it would be prudent
not to mention that Carl would be there. However, her enthusiasm dipped sharply when it
was made clear to her that she would not be allowed to wear boxer shorts, or even
knickers, for her ordeal. She took some time to digest this. On the one hand, the
thought of exposure horrified her. Unthinkable! On the other hand, the thought of being
made to obey and endure it made her dizzy with anticipation. Her natural caution, logic
and common sense said no. She opened her mouth to say "no" and said
"yes".
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