Portrait of a Disciplinarian (11 page)

‘Do stop making that awful noise,’ Hermione said calmly as she tightened her grip. ‘Do you want somebody to see you getting it?’

‘No!’ Stephanie squealed. ‘But they’re bound to, if –’

‘Then be quiet,’ Hermione interrupted. ‘I can’t see anybody at all. Now do try not to be such a baby. It’s only a spanking.’

‘A spanking from you!’ Stephanie gasped.

‘Why shouldn’t I spank you?’ Hermione asked. ‘You spank me.’

‘Not for ages!’

‘That’s hardly the point, is it?’

‘I’m older than you!’ Stephanie howled. ‘I had to spank you, sometimes.’

‘And today I have to spank you,’ Hermione told her, ‘so at least try and take it like a lady.’

Stephanie scowled as she remembered all the times she’d used exactly the same phrase to her sister. She’d stopped struggling, exhausted and knowing it was useless, but she hadn’t given up completely.

‘I was only pretending, H.,’ Stephanie lied. ‘I wasn’t really going to do you, I promise.’

‘What utter nonsense!’ Hermione said with a laugh. ‘And just for being such a liar, I shall do you bare.’

‘As if you wouldn’t anyway,’ Stephanie said sulkily. ‘Come on, H., please let me up. You’ve proved you can do it, this is ever so much more humiliating for me than it would be for you, and …’

‘I have my hairbrush in my bag,’ Hermione said, ‘and if you don’t shut up I shall use it. The more fuss you make, the longer this is going to take.’

It was another of her favourite phrases, inherited from her Great-aunt Victoria. Stephanie shut up. She grimaced in horror as her union suit was opened, deliberately slowly, so that she could experience every moment of her exposure. As the recipient of so many spankings herself, Hermione knew exactly what to do to play upon her victim’s feelings. She started at the top. Stephanie felt the air on her skin as the button over the small of her back was opened to reveal no more than a small diamond of flesh, down to where the next button closed the suit at the top of her bottom crease. That too came open and she had a little slit showing; then the next, and soon her cheeks were almost entirely on view as her union suit fell open.

‘Properly bare, of course,’ Hermione said complacently, and her hand burrowed between her sister’s thighs.

As the button over her quim was tweaked open Stephanie let out a weak sob. She was now showing from the small of her back downwards, with only the flaps of her union suit to preserve a last scrap of modesty, which she knew was about to be stripped away. Sure enough, Hermione’s thumbs dug into the split of the union suit, stayed as they were for a long moment to allow Stephanie to appreciate her exposure, and hauled wide.

Fully unveiled, Stephanie felt huge behind, her bottom a fat ball of girlflesh thrust out to the moor in a taut circle of white silk and lacy trim. Worse still, the tension of her open suit had made her cheeks part,
adding
to her woes the exposure of her bottom hole, while her quim was also on full, vulgar display. Hermione gave a low chuckle at the sight and settled one hand on to Stephanie’s bottom, gently.

‘It is an absolute disgrace, the frequency with which you require spanking, Stephanie,’ Hermione lectured in a near-perfect imitation of their great-aunt’s voice, ‘but what must be done must be done.’

As she spoke she began to spank, applying a single, firm swat across the meat of her sister’s cheeks. Stephanie gave a broken wail as Hermione’s hand landed, not at the pain but at the raw emotion of having her bottom smacked by her own baby sister. A second smack followed, a third, and any hope of pretending it hadn’t happened was gone. She hadn’t just been smacked on the bottom, she was being spanked properly, held down over the knee, with her sister’s palm applied to her naked cheeks as punishment.

She gave in, defeated, but as her bottom began to bounce and wobble under the slaps she couldn’t help reflecting that had she not attempted to do exactly the same to Hermione, she would never have ended up in this undignified position. Her mouth set in a sulky pout, broken only occasionally when a harder slap made her squeak, or a low shot sent a jolt to her quim and pushed an involuntary sob from between her lips.

‘Naughty, naughty, Stephanie!’ Hermione chided, her voice full of laughter as she applied her hand to her sister’s bottom. ‘What a bad girl, to have to be put over her own sister’s knee! What a bad, bad girl!’

Stephanie’s scowl intensified, but she held her peace, knowing that anything she said would only make it worse; but then the spanking stopped and her sister’s hand settled gently on her bottom, feeling the hot skin.

‘Ooh, you’re all warm and rosy!’ Hermione said, laughing. ‘I wish I had some of that nappy cream Vera uses on you, I’d rub it –’

‘How do you know about that?’ Stephanie demanded.

‘I watched you yesterday afternoon,’ Hermione admitted happily as she went back to spanking Stephanie’s bottom. ‘I thought you were up to no good, and it’s easy to climb from my balcony on to yours. But aren’t you two naughty? You really do deserve this, Stiffy, don’t you? Come on, stick it up, I want to see your bottom hole.’

‘Hermione!’ Stephanie gasped.

‘I only want to see if I can make it open and close, the way it does when the aunts do you,’ Hermione giggled. ‘Come on, stick it up. Let me see.’

‘I will not!’ Stephanie answered in outrage.

‘Stick … your … bottom … up …’ Hermione demanded, punctuating each word with a hard smack to her sister’s bottom. ‘I … want … to … see … your … bottom … hole … Come on, Stiffy. You let Vera … and she put her finger in … and a daffodil.’

Hermione had changed the rhythm of her spanking, peppering Stephanie’s bottom with little stinging smacks of her fingertips each time she spoke. Stephanie began to struggle again, her mouth set in a hard, obstinate line, the tears welling up in her eyes as she fought to stop herself. But Hermione tightened her grip once more and spanked all the harder.

‘I’ll use my hairbrush, Stiffy!’ Hermione threatened.

‘Pig!’ Stephanie wailed, her resolve not to make it any worse for herself finally breaking.

‘A pig, am I?’ Hermione. ‘Right.’

The spanking stopped, and Stephanie felt her sister’s body shift beneath her. She gave a frantic lurch, but Hermione clung on while digging in her bag and a moment later something smooth, hard, cold, and infinitely more painful than her sister’s hand landed across Stephanie’s bottom. A piercing screech rang out across the empty field as the smack hit home, and a second as Stephanie began to kick and wriggle once more.

‘Just stick up that bottom and it will stop,’ Hermione promised, using a tone of voice so infuriatingly superior that Stephanie lost the last of her self-control.

A second later she was beating her fists on the ground and her sister’s legs, kicking wildly in the air and bawling her head off as she went into a spanking tantrum.

‘You don’t fool me,’ Hermione said, spanking all the harder. ‘Remember, I know all the tricks. Now stick your bottom up!’

Something inside Stephanie seemed to snap and she did it, stuck her bottom high to let her cheeks spread and show off the rude little hole her sister wanted to see, the ring already pulsing in her pain. Hermione gave a peal of laughter, but the spanking had stopped. Stephanie kept her bottom high, the tears streaming down her cheeks and her mouth working furiously as her anus was inspected by her giggling sister.

‘All right, you’re done,’ Hermione finally announced, ‘but don’t you ever try to spank me again.’

‘I won’t … I promise,’ Stephanie sobbed. ‘Just let me up, please.’

‘One more thing, just to be sure you don’t forget,’ Hermione said.

Stephanie twisted around as her sister’s voice gave way to a curious sucking noise. Hermione had the handle of the hairbrush in her mouth, and Stephanie immediately began to struggle again, because she knew exactly where it was going.

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Hermione said firmly. ‘I have a long memory, Stiffy, and at least you’re not going to get caught by Great-aunt Victoria while the brush is up your bottom.’

As she spoke she pushed the handle of the hairbrush between Stephanie’s bottom cheeks. Stephanie was struggling furiously, but the spit-wet tip of the handle was already in the mouth of her bottom hole, and her cries and pleas changed to a gasp of shock as she was penetrated. Hermione pushed the handle in deep, giggling as Stephanie’s ring squeezed the bumpy silver shaft.

‘Now, what was it Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe used to do?’ she said in mock forgetfulness. ‘Oh yes …’

‘No!’ Stephanie squealed, but instead of the next expected humiliation being inflicted on her bottom she found herself being tumbled to the ground.

‘Quick, get up!’ Hermione urged. ‘Somebody’s coming!’

Stephanie had landed on the hairbrush, and it took her a moment to rearrange her senses before she scrambled hastily to her feet. She tugged her dress down to cover her bottom, but there was no time to remove the hairbrush from her anus, let alone close her union suit. A curious procession was approaching across the field beyond the stile at a brisk march, a double column of young men, all identically clad in khaki shirts, baggy shorts of an indeterminate brown, knee-length khaki socks, wide-brimmed hats and heavy boots. As the group drew closer Stephanie realised that several of them were girls. She had already recognised the man at the front as Claude Attwater.

Only the low wall had saved her from being seen, and she threw Hermione a dirty look before hurriedly composing herself. Her hat had fallen off during their first struggle and she retrieved it, hoping that Claude Attwater and the others would assume that was why she had popped up, as if out of nowhere. He had recognised them anyway, and raised his own hat.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Attwater,’ Stephanie and Hermione said, almost in chorus.

‘Column, halt!’ Attwater commanded, raising a hand.

The group came smartly to attention, spoilt somewhat by the last boy in the left-hand column, who had not being paying attention and had walked into the girl in front of him.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Stephanie, Miss Hermione,’ Attwater responded. ‘Out for a healthy walk, I see? Nothing like fresh air for building the constitution, and
exercise
is everything. Exercise and discipline, those are the maxims we live by in the Brown Shorts, and you, of course, could never be accused of going short of discipline.’

A distinct smirk crossed his face as he spoke, and Stephanie found herself blushing, wondering if he’d somehow seen or worked out what had been going on, although it seemed more likely that he was referring to the spanking she’d had from her Aunt Lettice.

‘These are your famous Brown Shorts, then?’ she enquired carefully.

‘They are indeed,’ he answered with pride. ‘What you see here, Miss Stephanie, is the nucleus of a great movement. You should join us. It is a fine life, with stimulation for both mind and body, and rest assured, we are the future for this country, the heralds of a new dawn. Here is a pamphlet on the subject.’

He held out a brightly coloured object, the front of which showed a drawing of himself smiling in a fashion that made him look more fatuous than ever. Stephanie took it, wondering how to decline his invitation with sufficient tact to ensure that the long-term result wasn’t a spanking from her Aunt Gertrude. Hermione gave a gentle tug on her arm while Stephanie wondered whether it was better to claim to be a communist or feign an allergy to ant bites.

‘Excuse me,’ she ventured instead, and allowed herself to be drawn aside.

‘We should join,’ Hermione whispered.

‘Join?’ Stephanie retorted. ‘Don’t be a loony!’

‘No, don’t you see?’ Hermione insisted. ‘If we join his beastly organisation we get uniforms, which are ever so much better than dresses when it comes to sneaking around after dark, while if we are seen but manage to make a run for it, everything will be blamed on the Brown Shorts.’

‘That’s true,’ Stephanie admitted, ‘but if we’re Brown Shorts too …’

‘We must have an alibi,’ Hermione responded.

‘For the middle of the night?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

‘I’m not sure …’

‘Mr Attwater,’ Hermione announced loudly, not waiting for Stephanie to finish. ‘We are prepared to give your organisation a trial. How do we sign up?’

‘Excellent!’ he responded. ‘And a wise choice. There is a small ceremony, when you receive your uniforms, but for the present we plan to march to the top of Hare Tor and back to my house in Sourton. You should come along.’

Stephanie sat down rather gingerly as a faint pop announced the withdrawal of the cork from the lunch-time bottle of Chablis. It had been a long while since her spanking, and her cheeks had recovered, but the long march across Dartmoor with her sister’s hairbrush stuck up her bottom had left her anus so sore than even the liberal application of Wilberforce’s patent ‘Sootho’ had failed to stop the stinging. It had only added to the sensation of having to keep her cheeks clenched in order to prevent an accident that could easily compete for a spot in her top three most embarrassing moments.

‘Trout?’ Sir Richard Truscott queried, sniffing the air.

‘With nut butter and new potatoes, Sir Richard, sir,’ Mrs Catchpole confirmed, ‘and there’s a nice carrot and herb pie for them as is fussy little madams.’

Aunt Lettice stiffened, and Stephanie was forced to stifle a giggle. Mrs Catchpole took no notice of either, but began to serve.

‘Plenty of sauce, Lucy,’ Sir Richard instructed as Mrs Catchpole began to serve. ‘Splendid, splendid, nothing like a stiff gallop to work up an appetite, eh? But what’s this Gertie tells me about you joining the Brown Shorts, Stiffy? And you too, H.? I thought you both had more sense.’

‘It will do them both a power of good,’ Gertrude put in.

‘You always say we should experience different facets of life, Grandpapa,’ Hermione answered him.

‘Traipsing across the moor dressed up like a boy?’ he queried. ‘Well, it’s up to you, and I dare say you’ll soon grow out of it.’

He addressed himself to the trout, as did the others, leaving a silence broken only by the sounds of determined mastication and a faint plop as Mrs Catchpole manoeuvred a slab of orange and green substance on to Aunt Lettice’s plate.