Copyright 1996 to <pablo@thetreehouse.net> Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

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[Image of Mr Impossible] Such a Naughty Girl (part 2/2)
by Pablo

[ . . . continued from part 1/2]

Four hours later, the game was afoot. Sally and Charlotte were alone in Charlotte's dormitory, the other girls - Jodie excepted - having left for choir practice ten minutes earlier. Jodie herself was expected back from her piano lesson at any moment.

Sally sat on Charlotte's bed, prepared, but nervous as hell.

Charlotte, having changed out of her school uniform and into pale blue cotton pyjamas, was standing by the heavy wooden door, looking out for Jodie's return.

She looked at her sister. "Roll up your right sleeve," she suggested.

"Why?" asked Sally.

"It'll look as if you really mean business," Charlotte explained. "Daddy sometimes does it before he spanks me, and it makes me almost wet my pants."

Sally was entirely under her little sister's control here. She unbuttoned her right shirt-cuff, and carefully rolled up the sleeve as far as the elbow.

"Whatever you say," Sally insisted, "I'm not going to spank you hard."

"You must," Charlotte countered. "It's got to look real. You won't hurt me, I promise. And don't be put off when I cry; they won't be real tears."

Sally breathed deeply. What was she doing! She'd got Abigail spanked, and now she was going to spank her brilliant little sister.

"She's coming!" Charlotte cried. She sprinted across the room, pulled down her own pyjama trousers, and practically dived across Sally's lap, presenting her naked buttocks and thighs.

"Come on! Lots of light spanks to redden me up, like I told you!" Charlotte cried.

Sally began to pat Charlotte's buttocks gently.

"Harder, come on!"

Charlotte lent her own hands to the task, paddling her own buttocks, to bring forth the rosy hue of a harder spanking.

"Now, when she comes in, you've got to scold me really sternly, and then give me a dozen hard smacks. Then make me stand in the corner."

Sally steeled herself. She found it easy enough to be a strict disciplinarian with genuinely bad girls, but with her sister it was awfully hard.

The door creaked. Sally took a deep breath and launched into the task at hand, hoping her sister would forgive her.

She grasped Charlotte around the waist, raised her right arm, and delivered a sweet hand-spank to her sister's right buttock. At once, Charlotte broke down in floods of penitent tears. Their very suddenness - though impressively realistic - startled Sally, and she paused before spanking Charlotte's left buttock equally hard.

"No more, please! I'm sorry!" wailed Charlotte with appropriate melodrama.

Sally, realising she was underplaying her part, began scolding, as she continued the hand-smacks.

"How dare you laugh at me, you little bitch! I saw you laughing when I was getting the slipper."

Spank! Spank!

"I wasn't! Honestly!" Sally was aware of Jodie's presence. The girl was watching this strange tableau with great interest, mouth wide open.

"Don't lie to me!"

Sally finished off the last of Charlotte's dozen spanks, and her sister's bottom was red enough to be mistaken for a genuinely well-smacked behind. She lifted the tear-rubbing and bum-rubbing Charlotte to her feet.

"Now get in the corner, facing the wall. Come on! Leave your pyjamas down, so your little friends can see your red bottom."

Charlotte shuffled glumly into the corner, placing her hands on her head without prompting.

"Now you'll stay there for a full twenty minutes," said Sally, "and if I hear that you moved before then, or if I ever see you laughing at me again, I'll take the back of my hairbrush to you, and I'll paddle your bottom so shiny I'll be able to see my face in it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, miss," sniffed Charlotte.

"Right."

Sally made great show of rolling down and buttoning her shirt- cuff, then strode masterfully out of the dormitory, leaving Charlotte and Jodie to whatever discussions might ensue.

By the time she reached her own room, Sally was sobbing uncontrollably. These plots and counter-plots, they had to end! No-one else was going to suffer for her own misdemeanours.

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It was the following morning, and Sally paced up and down her room in an adrenaline buzz of fear and excitement. She'd watched her father's car disappear around the side of the school. He must surely be on his way to the Headmistress's study by now. Sally fiddled nervously with her collar and the shoulder-straps of her tunic.

The door burst open and Charlotte, school uniform hastily-donned and fetchingly askew, entered triumphantly.

"I've got it!" Charlotte announced, holding the Dictaphone aloft.

"He's here! He's here already!" screamed Sally, grabbing the tape recorder. Perhaps there was still time after all!

Sally fumbled for the PLAY button, and started the tape.

"I spent all night trying to get her to talk about it," gabbled Charlotte as Sally held the tape to her ear, listening to the voices, "but it didn't seem as if she was going to admit anything. Then suddenly, this morning, she came straight out with it. It was almost as if she was waiting for something..."

Sally heard Jodie's crowing voice:

"...of course, it was me who took your sister's knickers. Serves her right, the stuck-up cow..."

Sally stopped the tape, hugged her sister very hard indeed, threw on her blazer, slipped the tape recorder into a blazer pocket, and ran. She tore down the stairs and along the corridors, blazer flapping, unconstrained breasts bouncing under her shirt, bare, athletic thighs pumping powerfully. She could get there in time! She could get there in time!

Sally dashed around the final corner, and...she had got there in time! Her heart leapt. Her father was nowhere to be seen outside the Headmistress's study, and he certainly would have had to wait. She took a peek back down the corridor.

There he was! Sally's father - tall, greying, distinguished - was approaching rapidly. Sally ran to the Headmistress's study door, knocked twice, and pushed. She pushed again.

No! It was locked! Please, no!

Sally knocked again, harder this time.

The door opened, and Miss Grainger's head appeared.

"What is it, Sally?" the Headmistress asked.

"Please, miss, I have to see you."

"I have two girls with the at the moment, Sally. If you could wait, I'll be free soon."

Sally could hear her father's footsteps on the parquet floor!

"Please, miss, I have to see you right now!" Sally blurted, her eyes misting with tears.

"No, Sally," Miss Grainger insisted, "There's nothing so urgent it can't wait."

With that, the Headmistress closed her study door, with a final thud, and Sally heard the key turning in the lock.

At this, the accumulation of emotions that had been building up in Sally's head ever since Jodie McAllister's bottom blistering became simply too much, and the anger, the fear, the frustration - and also her own need for discipline - exploded. Sally's limbs felt so weak. She collapsed into a chair, holding her face in her hands, sobbing deep, wet sobs that caused tears to spill across her face and hands, dripping noisily onto the carpet. She felt a warmth and a dampness underneath her tunic skirt, and Sally - eighteen-year-old Head Girl of St. Catherine's - knew to her shame that she'd wet her knickers.

Through the confusion of her distress, Sally could see one thing clearly: she needed her Daddy. She needed the certainty and security of his unconditional love and his loving discipline. She longed to feel his strong arms around her. Just for a while, she needed to be Daddy's little girl, rather than Daddy's big Head Girl; to be protected, to be fathered; and if Daddy's little girl was naughty, to be spanked.

Sally caught a whiff of a familiar after-shave, and a large figure sat down gently beside her.

"What's up, angel?" asked a friendly, concerned voice. Sally felt a hand tousling her short boyish hair.

Still blinded by tears, Sally threw her arms around the man she knew to be her Daddy, surrendering herself to him, burying her face deep into his chest.

While muffled sounds of hairbrush spanking emerged from the Headmistress's study, Sally's father held her tightly, rocking her gently, like the small, frightened child she seemed to have become.

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Gradually, Sally's tears subsided. Her father handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her face and blew her nose.

"Does this have anything to do with the reason why you're not wearing your school tie?" Mr Heriot asked, a note of sternness creeping into his voice now that he knew his elder daughter was in control of herself.

Sally hung her head. "Yes, Dad."

"Look at me, please, young lady, when I'm talking to you," said Mr Heriot, sending Sally's stomach into cartwheels, and raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

With some effort, Sally looked her father in his grey-blue eyes; they seemed to pierce right through to her soul.

"Yes, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

There wasn't anything in the world that Sally wanted more. It would be such a relief to unburden herself of the plans and plots and machinations, to confess her guilt exactly where she believed it existed, to leave herself entirely in her father's hands. He would know what to do, and he would do it. If she deserved a scolding, she would be scolded; if she deserved a trip across his knee for a bare-bottom spanking, then her knickers would be lowered without a second thought, and her bare bottom would be spanked to just the right shade of red - no more and no less. It was so simple.

Feeling a great weight disappear, Sally told her father the whole story, from Jodie McAllister's arrival and overzealous paddling, to Jodie's revenge at the knicker-inspection, and Sally's and Charlotte's plot to obtain a confession from the minx. She left nothing out, and winced at her father's clear anger at her descriptions of Jodie's restraint with hers and Abigail's school ties, and her own - albeit consensual - spanking of Charlotte.

By the time she'd finished the tale, Sally's head was clear, but there remained a knot of nervous tension in her stomach. She took a deep breath.

"Are you..." she stumbled, "are you going to give me a spanking?"

Her father paused for what seemed an awfully long time.

"Do you think I should?" he asked, plainly.

Sally looked at her feet. She needed her father's firm hand, but the idea made her sick with fear. "I don't know," she said.

"Let's be clear about this, Sally," her father said. "You're a very big girl now, and for an eighteen-year-old, a proper spanking has to be a serious affair - rather more than just a few token smacks over your skirt or underwear."

Sally nodded. "I know, Dad."

"So, if we agree that a spanking is the appropriate punishment, it will be severe, and on the bare, and there will be plenty of tears before it's over."

Sally's eyes began to mist over again. Couldn't she stop crying!

"Yes, Dad. I understand," she whispered.

"So, young lady. Do you think I should spank you?"

Sally thought about something her father had said; about them agreeing.

"What if I say no?" Sally asked, tentatively.

"Well," Mr Heriot considered, "I would certainly listen very carefully to anything you had to say. In the end, though, you're my daughter, and your discipline remains my responsibility. You know your mother and I are firm believers in the use of corporal punishment where it is merited, which is why we chose this school for you and Charlotte, and why we've always explained that while you were still at school, serious misbehaviour would result in a sound spanking."

"Yes, Dad."

"You also know," he continued, "that I'd know at once if you weren't telling me the truth."

Sally nodded. He would, too.

"I think," Sally began, "I think I do deserve a spanking." She looked up at her father. Their eyes met, locked together. "I think I need a spanking."

Mr Heriot could see that Sally had more to say, but that it was difficult for her.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"I knew almost as soon as I'd finished spanking Jodie that I'd really hurt her. Something about the colour of her bottom was just wrong. I went too far, because I took it upon myself to correct six years of bad parenting. That was presumptuous. I misused my privileges, and I ought to be spanked for that.

"I shouldn't have tied Jodie. I thought it was okay, because I was in a rage, and I wasn't thinking straight. I ought to be spanked for that.

"Getting Abigail into trouble was all my doing. She got slippered by the Headmistress, and I'm sure she'll get another walloping from her mother. I ought to be spanked for that also.

"Spanking Charlotte was unforgivable, even though it was her idea. I ought to be very soundly spanked for that."

There was silence for a few seconds, as Mr Heriot considered his daughter's confession. He was trying to deal with this very carefully, since spanking Sally for the very first time at eighteen years old was not something he was prepared to do lightly. Perhaps if she'd been spanked regularly throughout her childhood, he'd be less concerned. A proper punishment spanking - especially for an older girl - was charged with all sorts of emotional dangers and baggage, and he was going to make sure that there was agreement between them about the need for the spanking, and about its nature. He wasn't about to put their close relationship at risk.

"Do you think a spanking is the right punishment, though?" he asked.

"Yes," Sally replied, at once. She thought a little more. "I was shaking like a leaf yesterday when I knew I was going to be slippered, but once I'd seen the bruising on Jodie's bottom, I knew I deserved it. When the Headmistress put me over her knee, I was completely calm, because it was right. I deserved punishment, and I was going to get it."

"But?"

"But she didn't punish me properly, because she didn't know about all things I needed punishment for. I needed to have my bottom smacked long and hard, until I cried, but it didn't happen. I still need it."

Mr Heriot was filled with pride. Even when Sally had misbehaved, she was so good. He took her hand.

"You know, Sally," he explained. "I sometimes think that the people who want to do away with corporal punishment forget just what a strong sense of justice - of right and wrong - children have. If a punishment is merited, they'll have no complaints, and if it's a quick trip across a parent's lap for a good spanking, so much the better, because it'll be over in a few minutes."

"It does scare me, though, Dad," Sally admitted. "I've been across Miss Grainger's lap, and she's spanked me with my knickers down. That felt pretty humiliating. I know it'll be worse from you."

Sally opened her father's large right palm. It felt warm and soft, and she found it difficult to imagine that same palm beating her bare buttocks.

"It will be humiliating, angel," said Mr Heriot, "but think what that means? To humiliate is just to make humble. We can all do with being made humble every so often."

"I suppose," Sally agreed.

"There's another way of thinking about it, though," Mr Heriot continued. "If I'm going to administer a hand-spanking, putting you over my knee is just the most comfortable position for both of us. If I'm going to judge the severity of the spanking correctly, I need to see what I'm doing. I can't do that unless I can see your bare bottom. Of course, a spanking on the bare bottom hurts more, but then a spanking is supposed to hurt."

Father and daughter smiled gently. Sally soon returned to deeper thoughts, though.

"There's something else I need to tell you," she said.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"It's something that's been eating away at me, since Jodie told me about her father. She's turned out a really bad kid because her father never spanked her." Sally paused. "You've never spanked me either."

Mr Heriot sighed. He placed an arm around Sally, drawing her to his side.

"By the sounds of it, she's deserved lots of spankings," she said. "You never have."

"But how can I be sure that you really would have spanked me if I'd deserved it?" Sally asked.

"You have my word, Sal. If you need evidence, think about Charlotte. She deserves spankings, and she certainly gets them."

Sally knew this was true, but still it wasn't enough.

"Dad, I need you to spank me for all the bad things I did that you never found out about. I need to know that you really meant it. I'll be leaving school in a couple of months, and then it'll be too late."

"Don't you worry, angel," reassured Mr Heriot, kissing Sally's forehead. "You'll have proof that I really meant it - that I still do really mean it - this morning. I'm not going to let you down."

He squeezed her shoulders. "You really must tell your Headmistress everything you've told me."

"I know, Dad," Sally agreed. She knew such a confession would result in a sound bottom-smacking from Miss Grainger, but now that she'd started down the road to absolution, there was no turning back until she reached the end, no matter what chastisements lay in store.

Her father wandered over to the Headmistress's study door. Through the locked door, the slapping and squealing and sobbing of the climax to a long schoolgirl spanking could be heard. He winced.

"I sometimes think I should stuff a rolled-up newspaper down my pants when I'm about to see your Headmistress," he quipped.

"Wouldn't do much good," Sally observed. "She almost always spanks on the bare."

Mr Heriot grimaced in mock horror, and the two of them giggled.

They were silenced by the opening of the door. Miss Grainger, eyes sparkling, breathing heavy from exercising her right arm and holding big schoolgirls across her lap as they wriggled, saw the pair of them.

"If you could just wait a little longer," Miss Grainger said to Sally, "I'd like a quick word with your father first."

Mr Heriot held up a hand. "Um...If you don't mind, Miss Grainger," he said, "I think there's something very important my daughter would like to say to you first." He looked at Sally, who blushed nervously.

"Yes. Quite right," agreed the Headmistress. "Sally was here first." She sat down beside Sally. "What is it, Sally?"

Looking sheepishly between Miss Grainger and her father, and stumbling several times over the words - she was still in considerable awe of the Headmistress, and this was not alleviated by the fact that she was confessing to naughtinesses that merited formal over-the-knee discipline - Sally retold the events of the week. She was a little dumbfounded when Miss Grainger's reaction seemed a sort of relieved pleasure, her face lightening, mouth curling gently at the corners.

"I'm really sorry, miss, and I know I should be spanked severely," Sally said, in conclusion.

"Thank you very much for telling me all this, Sally," Miss Grainger said in all honesty, placing a hand on Sally's arm. "There's something I'd like to show you, if you'd just step into my study. You too, Mr Heriot."

Equally confused, Sally and her father were ushered into the study.

Sally, leading the way, gasped. In the centre of the study sat the Headmistress's high wooden spanking stool; on its seat lay Miss Grainger's favourite wooden hairbrush, still warm from application to rosy bottom-cheeks. This wasn't the cause of Sally's gasp, however. This was:

In opposite corners of the study, stood Jodie McAllister and Abigail Rice. Both had their kilts and shirt-tails tucked-up, and their school knickers at half-mast. Both bare bottoms were positively incandescent. Abigail stood meekly, sobbing quietly, with her hands firmly atop her head. Jodie, characteristically, was taking the opportunity of the Headmistress's absence to rub energetically at her scarlet posterior.

As she heard Sally enter, Jodie quickly moved her hands back up, but it was too late. Miss Grainger stormed past Sally and her father, grabbed Jodie by an ear, and marched her back towards the stool.

"What did I tell you about rubbing?" Miss Grainger scolded.

"I'm sorry! Please! I'm really sorry!"

The pleas were useless, of course. Miss Grainger soon lifted Jodie across her knee and began to administer full-strength palm-spanks to the girl's already-tender bottom. Jodie's legs kicked and scissored, her knickers stretching between her bare knees. She cried without restraint.

Sally and her father looked at each other with some discomfort; neither really believed this was something they ought to be witnessing.

Presently, Miss Grainger ended the spanking, though she continued to hold Jodie firmly in place across her lap, so that further bum-rubbing was impossible.

"The first thing to say," she said to Sally, "is that you may very well not have bruised Jodie quite as much as you imagined on Tuesday."

"Headmistress?" Jodie questioned.

"This naughty little girl came to me this morning wishing to confess to having stolen your uniform knickers yesterday. She said that she was sorry for having done it, but that she'd done it in retaliation for an extremely severe spanking you and Abigail had given her earlier in the week. She said she had the bruises still. However..." Miss Grainger reached over to her desk, and picked up a used tissue, "...when I inspected Jodie's bottom, what I discovered was that the bruises were the sort that can be wiped off with a little effort." She opened the tissue, to reveal a collection of green, blue and purple stains. "A rather cunning combination of cosmetics. I've never seen this trick before, myself, although I have heard of it being used by girls wishing to avoid further corporal punishment."

Sally's jaw dropped. She didn't know quite what to think. She was certainly deeply relieved that it seemed Jodie's bruises were at least partially fake. This was obviously Jodie's final attempt to exact revenge. But if she hadn't really bruised Jodie, what was Jodie's revenge for? Just for having been spanked? For having had her knickers taken down? Did that mean Sally's confession was unnecessary? Sally knew the answer to this one, without any doubt.

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Sally said. "If I didn't bruise Jodie when I spanked her, then I'm relieved, of course, but it doesn't change anything. I spanked Jodie in anger, and if I didn't bruise her it was just good fortune."

Mr Heriot and Miss Grainger exchanged a knowing glance. Sally had satisfied both of them with this reply.

"Jodie went on to describe how you and Abigail had tied her hands and feet before you spanked her. After questioning Abigail, I was extremely disappointed to find out that this accusation was true."

Sally looked across to Abigail. She didn't blame the girl for having confessed; in fact, she was thoroughly ashamed for having got Abigail spanked - and this time most severely - for the second time that week.

"I know we shouldn't have done it, Headmistress," Sally replied, "and we do deserve punishment, but Jodie was given every opportunity to accept her spanking properly, and I really don't think the restraint has harmed her in any way."

"Perhaps not, Sally," Miss Grainger reasoned, "but you must be aware of the potential repercussions if this sort of thing was the subject of a complaint from a parent."

Sally looked at her shoes. "Yes, Headmistress."

"Of course, I had to call Jodie's mother immediately, and this was not an easy call to make."

"No, Headmistress." Sally's heart sank. If she'd got the whole school into trouble, she'd simply never forgive herself.

"Fortunately, after telling her what Abigail told me about Jodie's behaviour during the punishment, and about Jodie's father, Mrs McAllister's anger was directed elsewhere. In fact, Mrs McAllister asked me to recommend a good hairbrush for spanking naughty teenage girls, and she'll be visiting the school next weekend to begin young Jodie's new regime of parental discipline."

Jodie, still draped bare-bottomed over-the-knee, sobbed pathetically. Her plan had backfired spectacularly. Sally watched her genuine tears with some compassion - perhaps Jodie was well on the way to becoming a good girl, now.

"However," the Headmistress continued, "Mrs McAllister did express her feeling that you and Abigail should be severely punished. I promised her that each of you would receive a formal, bare-bottomed spanking before the morning was over."

"Yes, Headmistress," Sally agreed quietly, a lump of emotion lodged in her throat.

Her father interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss Grainger," he said, "Sally and I have discussed her behaviour at some length, and we've agreed that she deserves a sound spanking from me. I'm keen to administer this at once, as I won't be visiting again for another month. Couldn't Sally's spanking from me meet your promise to Jodie's mother?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Mr Heriot," the Headmistress regretted. "This is a school matter."

Sally's father accepted this. Sally couldn't be expected to take two sound bottom-smackings in one morning, however, even if she did deserve them both.

Miss Grainger considered the problem.

"Sally," she said, "would you mind waiting outside for a moment while your father and I discuss how to proceed."

"Yes, miss."

Sally left the study, and was quickly followed by Jodie and Abigail, their uniforms now back in place. Jodie, still weeping from the throbbing in her backside, dashed off to somewhere private where she could feel genuinely sorry for herself. Abigail made to sit down beside Sally, then thought better of it. She slipped her hands underneath her kilt, and gently eased her uniform knickers down, cupping her extremely sore buttocks with cool palms.

"Christ!" she exclaimed. "She really meant it this time."

"I'm so sorry, Abbie," Sally apologised. "It's all my fault."

"Oh, don't be daft," Abigail said. "The little brat had it coming. You didn't force me to do anything. I'd do it again. Besides, it looks like you're going to get it hardest of all."

Sally nodded. Abigail pulled her knickers up again, and took a handkerchief out of her blazer pocket to wipe her tear-stained face.

Abigail hugged Sally. "Good luck, Sal," she said. "I hope your father doesn't spank you too hard."

"I hope he spanks me very hard indeed," Sally replied, and Abigail left, in search of a soothing, cold flannel.

Presently, Sally was called back into the Headmistress's study, and all was revealed.

"Sally," began the Headmistress. "Since your father is here for today only, your trip across his knee must take priority. He assures me that your spanking will be severe, and on your bare bottom, so it would seem to satisfy Mrs McAllister's request."

"Yes, Headmistress," Sally agreed, making eye-contact with her father.

"There is still the matter of a formal, school spanking, however. To allow sufficient time for your bottom to recover, this will be administered next Friday, when you come to collect your school tie before assembly. You will be allowed to collect your tie then, as if the spanking had been administered yesterday - as perhaps it should have been."

"Yes, Headmistress. Thank you, Headmistress."

"Be sure, Sally," Miss Grainger chided. "I am very disappointed with your conduct, and I might very well have taken away your Head Girl's badge if you hadn't shown such remorse, and acceptance of your punishment. As it is, you should count yourself lucky that a well-smacked bottom is the worst you can expect."

Sally hung her head. "Yes, Headmistress."

The Headmistress looked at Mr Heriot. She nodded.

"Come on, young lady," said Sally's father. "Let's go for a walk."

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Sally excused herself, and dashed up to her room, on the way to collecting Charlotte. She took off her damp knickers, washed herself at the small hand-basin, then pulled a clean pair of maroon pants over her clean, soft bottom; after the cold dampness, they felt as comfortably snug as ever. She made sure that her grey knee-socks were pulled right up, and that her shirt-collar was tidy. Then she washed her hands and face, her cheeks blushing pink with healthy youth. Finally, she brushed her short blonde hair, allowing the fringe to fall over her bright blue eyes.

Sally looked deep into her own eyes in the mirror above the basin. She could feel every strong beat of her heart; her skin tingled. She was very, very nervous. Not afraid - not any more. But she was nervous as hell. This was a day she would remember for the rest of her life: the first (and, she was somehow sure, the last) time she received an old-fashioned over-the-knee bare-bottom spanking from her father. It was an important event, and it had to be right, so that the memories she kept were the right memories. But what if she pleaded for mercy? What if she struggled as her father took down her knickers? She couldn't bear these thoughts, and she shivered. She would be brave. She would accept the punishment she deserved.

After Charlotte Heriot's leading role in obtaining Jodie McAllister's taped confession, Sally's sister was naturally impatient for news of Sally's meeting with the Headmistress, and rose to greet her when she arrived in Charlotte's dormitory. Sally merely shook her head resignedly, but this was enough for Charlotte to know that they were both heading for lapland. Charlotte was oddly pleased that the sisters would be sharing this experience for the first time.

They headed back downstairs.

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It was a lovely late spring day: they sky was a cloudless blue; hazy sunshine warmed the lush fields around the school; a lazy breeze caressed the leafy trees, which whispered soothingly. It was the sort of day when it's quite impossible to imagine it'll ever be cold again.

Mr Heriot, accompanied by his two smartly-uniformed daughters - prim and proper in their buttoned-up white shirts - headed away from the school buildings, along the circular path which traced the perimeter of the school grounds, at a gentle stroll. There was no hurry; they would arrive at their destination quite soon enough.

They walked in silence, as the high-pitched squealing from a first-formers' hockey match and the drone of a distant lawn-mower buzzed away in the background. There didn't seem to be anything to say; not until the schoolgirls had suitably warmed bottoms, and they were forgiven.

Away over the fields, Sally saw the looming presence of the William Norton Boys' School - totally and utterly out of bounds to the St. Catherine's girls, as was their own school to the boys, on pain of a trousers-down caning from the Headmaster. In the bright sunlight, she caught flashes of the boys' purple and green striped blazers and ties, and whiter-than-white shirts.

Ahead of them lay the seclusion of Kate's Wood - after the school in whose grounds it lay. The wood was quite out of bounds to the girls, however, unless accompanied by a parent or teacher. Sally had spanked three second-formers with their pyjamas down, and sent them to bed, for straying into the wood with some illicit purpose - doubtless just idle curiosity - she had never obtained from the walloped girls.

Underneath the canopy of trees, all sound was amplified. Sally's breathing was short and urgent. She hadn't been where they were going before, but she knew it wasn't far. Charlotte knew the route like the back of her hand. Sally's mouth felt dry, and her legs were shakier with every step. She couldn't help feeling the thick material of her gymslip skirt as it brushed against her bottom. She was going to be sore for quite some time.

Mr Heriot took a turn away from the main path, and the girls followed as the trail wound through denser woodland.

Before they knew it, they emerged into a small, semi-circular clearing right at the edge of the wood. The ground fell away sharply ahead of them, affording the clearing a splendid view of the patchwork of surrounding countryside.

In the centre of the clearing sat an enormous tree-stump, out of which had been carved a wide, high seat. The stump was smooth and shiny from the accumulated wear of countless bottoms, their owners having stopped for a moment to admire the panorama.

They had arrived.

Sally tried to breathe more deeply, to calm herself down and stop herself trembling.

"Sit down, girls," Mr Heriot instructed. Sally and Charlotte lifted themselves onto the stump, which was wide enough to accommodate them both. Their legs dangled above the ground, but the foot of the stump was wide and knobbly, and both girls found comfortable footholds.

Their father stood before them sternly.

"Sally, Charlotte," he scolded, "I am extremely cross with the pair of you. I ought to look forward to coming to see you at school, but it isn't easy when I find you've behaved so badly, and the first thing I have to do is put you over my knee for a spanking. But rest assured: while you're still in school uniform, you will be spanked if I think that's what you deserve. Are you listening?"

The girls nodded.

"Yes, Daddy," said Charlotte.

"Yes, Dad," said Sally.

Mr Heriot's face softened. He looked at each of his daughters.

"I am very angry with you now, but once your spanking is over, and your knickers are pulled back up, everything will be forgiven, and we'll be best friends again. Okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," Charlotte agreed.

"Yes, Dad," Sally agreed.

"Charlotte first, then, I think," Mr Heriot said. The girls moved away from the stump and their father took his seat, like a kindly but stern king on a high throne. He rested his feet on the foot of the stump, so that his lap was horizontal.

Charlotte took off her school blazer, watching with obvious trepidation as her father carefully rolled up the right sleeve of his grey jumper. As Charlotte approached the stump, Sally suddenly realised that she'd never actually seen her father administer a spanking; she'd heard Charlotte getting her bottom smacked often enough, but this was always in the privacy of Charlotte's bedroom.

Charlotte and her father had danced this particular tango many times. She moved to his right-hand-side, leaning as far as she could over his lap. Mr Heriot lifted his younger daughter with strong but gentle arms, and placed her squarely over his knees. Sally could see how comfortably Charlotte fit over her Daddy's lap. She was a long way over, so that her head and shoulders were low down, and her bottom was uppermost. Charlotte's unconstrained, full breasts pushed against the buttons of her shirt, and her stiff collar rode up against the underside of her jaw.

Mr Heriot took hold of the hem of Charlotte's kilt and folded the pleated skirt up, gathering the material tidily at Charlotte's waist. He turned up Charlotte's long shirt-tails, before attending to the lowering of her knickers. Charlotte lifted her hips a little to allow her uniform knickers to be slipped over her rounded buttocks and down to just above her knees.

Mr Heriot wasted no time. He wrapped his left arm around Charlotte's waist, securing her very tightly, and began to spank. At first the spanks were really no more than firm pats on Charlotte's bottom-cheeks, but the crisp sound of palm on flesh resounded noisily in the clearing. Sally was transfixed, imagining herself in the same humiliating, bare-bottomed nursery position. Her father allowed his wrist and elbow to remain loose. In this way, his slightly-cupped palm whipped onto Charlotte's bottom like a strap. Sally watched as Charlotte's buttocks were covered by slow, mild hand-spanks, their surface blushing. Gradually, the tempo increased, and her father drew his hand back further, spanking Charlotte more forcefully. Sally's sister remained still, although Sally could see her face distort with the smarting sting of each smack, and Charlotte's legs bent at the knee into a 'v' shape.

The whole of Charlotte's bottom was now rosy, from her waist to the tops of her legs. Their father distributed the spanks evenly. By now, they were becoming hard. Charlotte gasped as the accumulation of bottom-smacks began to burn - her buttocks bounced like partially- filled balloons as the palm applied itself with no mercy. The rhythmic slapping was relentless. Charlotte wriggled with discomfort, her bottom reddening rapidly, but she kept her arms in front of her - even in humiliating pain, she knew better than to try to rub or resist.

Mr Heriot was now spanking with formidable force, his arm swinging up and down, his right palm tracing a wide circle as it delivered mighty wallops to Charlotte's bottom. Charlotte's legs kicked with each fresh smack, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Tears were not so far away.

There were now two spanks per second - one for each cherry-red buttock - and they produced satisfyingly deep slapping sounds, along with Charlotte's counterpoint gasping.

Finally, the speed and ferocity of the spanking meant Charlotte was unable to catch her breath between smacks, and her humiliation and discomfort overflowed into tears, which ran unimpeded down her face. She sobbed in a curious mixture of pain and relief.

Mr Heriot noted his daughter's crying, and slowed right down again. He administered a dozen extremely hard spanks right in the centre of each buttock - each of which brought redoubled sobbing from Charlotte - and then stopped.

Sally found herself gasping for breath in empathy with her sister.

Mr Heriot pulled up Charlotte's knickers - he had to lift her hips himself, since the girl lay limply, heavily over his lap - and eased them back over her soundly-smacked bottom. Charlotte was lifted to her feet, dishevelled, humiliated, soundly punished. Mr Heriot drew her to him. He placed his arms around her and gave her a big hug, then kissed her on the forehead.

"It's over now, Charlie," he said, in a kindly tone. "Friends now?"

Charlotte rubbed her bottom ruefully through her kilt, her face a mess of hair and tears. Between sobs, she said: "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry you had to spank me."

"That's a good girl."

Charlotte turned to look at Sally. Sally's mouth felt dry, and her knees as if they were about to collapse. It was her turn.

"Sally Heriot, come here please!" her father commanded, and Sally went to him in a dazed state.

"Take off your blazer, Sally," Mr Heriot chided.

Sally stepped to one side and took off her maroon and grey blazer. As she laid it on the floor, something hard and heavy bumped against her leg. She wondered what it was, and reached inside the blazer pocket.

The tape!

It was the tape recorder! She'd forgotten all about that!

Sally's mind raced. She had a quite extraordinary idea. She carefully pulled the tape recorder to the pocket opening, so that it would manage to pick up ambient sounds. She felt for the right button.

She pressed RECORD.

The tape began to turn.

Sally returned to her father's side. Finally, after eighteen years, she was going over his lap for a bare-bottomed spanking.

She wanted to be certain of one thing, though.

"You must make me cry," she said to her father.

He reached out and brushed back her blonde fringe with his right hand, still scaldingly hot from warming Charlotte's bottom.

"Angel," he said, "you're already crying."

Sally realised that she was, and this produced an outpouring of emotion that was part giggle, part desperate sob.

"Come on, sweetheart," her father said. "It's got to be done. Let's get it over with."

Sally shuffled forward uncertainly, and released herself with profound relief into her father's strong arms. He lifted her across his knee like a little girl. His lap felt just so comfortable and soft. Sally lay quietly, submitting completely to her father's discipline. She was pushed further over, so that her head seemed way below her hips, and her bottom seemed miles away, somewhere behind and above. She was perfectly balanced, though.

Sally felt the box-pleated skirt of her gymslip being raised, and the cool breeze brushed across her bare thighs. The material ruffled as it was gathered at her waist, and her white shirt-tails were turned up out of the way.

Then Sally felt fingers inside the strong elastic of the waist- band of her knickers. The elastic stretched as it was manoeuvred over her chubby bottom - it seemed to take forever to reach the tops of her legs, but soon it was free, and the knickers were stationed at mid-thigh.

Sally had never, never felt so exposed. She knew her bottom was bare, and about to be soundly spanked. To have her upper-body so demurely attired in crisp white school shirt and traditional gym-tunic, and her lower-body so denuded, just seemed entirely wrong. Her father's arm encircled her waist, and this division was reinforced: to one side of his arm, Sally was a buttoned-up, formally-uniformed schoolgirl; to the other side she was just a naughty little girl about to have her bare seat paddled.

Sally felt the first of the firm pats on her bare bottom, and it seemed as if her bottom was the only part of her body which really existed - the rest of her was temporarily just an appendage to her fat backside.

The smacks weren't yet painful, but Sally knew they soon would be. She settled in for a long spanking.

Sally's bottom quickly warmed up under the increasingly-rapid and punishing palm-spanks. It began to feel hot and sore all across its surface. Her tight shirt-collar began to be uncomfortably constricting as she fought for shallow breaths.

Her father's palm continued paddling, moving quickly between the buttocks, but allowing full-value from each spank. Each blow left a distinct palm-print on Sally's behind, but they came so quickly that they began to blur together into a single burning sensation.

Sally panted, eyes closed against the tears she knew were inevitable - the tears she wanted, as proof that she'd been properly punished.

She rocked backwards and forwards as the spanks became unquestionably hard, her legs bending up and down, ankles kept together. They were coming so fast now that she could scarcely keep up; any hope of counting was lost; any chance of seeing the end of it useless.

Still the spanks rained down on her sore cheeks, by now cherry-red and seemingly swollen massively.

Sally released all resistance, and allowed herself to be submerged in the pain of her bottom and the humiliation of her position. Becoming a little girl once more, entirely in her father's charge, Sally responded in the only way possible. She wept.

Sally cried freely, thinking nothing for dignity, maturity. She was a little girl, she was bare-bottomed over her father's knee, and it hurt! She wanted it to stop, but the spanks just kept coming.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" Sally cried.

"I know, angel," he replied, "but we're not quite there yet."

Sally's tears turned into sobs which wracked her whole body, jolting with every heavy wallop. She seemed suddenly to forget where she was and what was happening to her. All that she knew was pain and humiliation.

And then it stopped.

In the brief hiatus before the final blistering dozen, Sally looked up, her eyes full of tears, her collar-tips pointing outwards from her shirt-front as her neck craned back.

There! There was something there, in the trees!

Sally wiped her eyes. She saw movement, and there were purple and green stripes, with flashes of brilliant white. It hit her like a hammer-blow.

A schoolboy! There was a boy from the boys' school in the trees, watching!

Her father's hand smacked powerfully on her bottom, and Sally's eyes closed involuntarily, as she sobbed without control. Slowly, with careful aim, Sally's father administered the last few spanks.

What followed seemed to Sally like silence, but she knew it was filled with her sobbing and gasping breaths. Before she'd realised it, her knickers were back over her bottom, the thick material stinging furiously against her tender skin.

Sally was lifted to her feet. Her father stood, and enclosed her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his warm chest and sobbed her little heart out.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said. "I'm sorry you had to spank me."

"I'm sorry, too, sweetheart," he replied, and a catch in his voice caused Sally to look up. A single line of tears was running from each of her father's eyes. "You won't make me have to do that again, will you?" he asked Sally.

"No, Dad," Sally answered, plainly, her father's distress causing her to cry all the harder.

"Shhh, shhh," Mr Heriot consoled. "It's all over now." He kissed Sally's forehead, and wiped away her tears. "Best friends?"

"Best friends," Sally agreed. She glanced over into the wood, but the boy was gone.

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What remains is just epilogue.

After the girls had cleaned themselves up, and soothed their throbbing bottoms a little, their father took them out to lunch, at a small tea-room in the village, and they ate heartily. There was much relaxed laughter. If Sally noticed envious glances from the sweet, polite, sixteen-year-old daughter of the proprietress, who served them most capably, she was very perceptive. The girl was used to seeing St. Catherine's girls, and she dearly wished she could be one of them. All those schoolgirl stories she'd read as a child left her with the unshakeable belief that theirs was a wonderful life. She loved their bright, formal uniforms: so smart; so grown-up. She knew that they got spanked - and she wasn't slow to notice that these two girls were without their school ties, nor their shy smiles when their father asked if they might each have a soft cushion to sit on - but this was all part of being a schoolgirl, wasn't it? Besides, she was quite used to the feel of her mother's wooden spoon across her bare bum, as she lay across a mound of pillows on her bed.

When it was time for her father to leave, he kissed and hugged Sally and Charlotte fondly.

"Good luck next week," he said to Sally, and she scowled.

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That evening, Sally was awfully keen to get to bed. She locked her door, changed into a soft, clean pair of pyjamas, and crept under the bedclothes, taking with her the tape recorder and a pair of earphones. She lay on her side, and as she listened hypnotically to the sound of her own spanking, she slipped a hand inside her pyjama trousers and gently caressed her red, sore, throbbing buttocks. They were generating a deep, penetrating warmth, now, that Sally was almost sorry would have to disappear.

She wondered who the boy was. She was sure she had seen a boy in the trees. Who was he? How much had he seen of her spanking?

When it was time for her to go to sleep, Sally locked the tape away very safely.

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What Sally found most difficult for the rest of the week wasn't the approach of her spanking from the Headmistress; it was the fact that, every morning, as she put on her school uniform, she was unable to perform the ritual of tying her tie: looping the striped school tie around her collar, forming a neat knot, and pushing the knot up to her throat. Without her tie, her chin felt nothing but a hole underneath her buttoned shirt-collar.

She was almost pleased when Friday arrived, and she found herself knocking on the door of the Headmistress's study.

When Miss Grainger announced that Sally would be receiving the same punishment that Sally had given Jodie, Sally shivered: this would be a sound spanking indeed. She had no fears, though, and she allowed herself to be placed across the Headmistress's lap with a clear head.

Sally's skirt was lifted, and she took 50 mild smacks on the seat of her knickers. These generated some warmth, but little genuine discomfort. Sally's uniform knickers were then taken down to her knees, and Miss Grainger administered 60 hard hand-smacks on Sally's bare bottom. Sally was breathing heavily after this: her bottom was heating up considerably. Finally, Miss Grainger reached for her hairbrush, and paddled Sally's bottom bright-red. By the sixtieth hairbrush-spank, Sally was squirming energetically on the Headmistress's lap, and crying openly.

Miss Grainger sent Sally into the corner, knickers still around her knees, for ten minutes, then allowed Sally to adjust her uniform and dry her tears. She reached into a desk drawer, and recovered Sally's school tie.

"All of this might have been avoided if you'd come straight to me with Jodie's behaviour," the Headmistress told Sally.

Sally nodded.

"I know, Headmistress. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Sally practically ran back up to her room, she was so keen to make her school uniform complete once more. She spent a few minutes alleviating the sting in her bottom with a cold flannel, then attended to her uniform. That morning, she'd put on knickers, socks and shirt from the previous day, because she wanted to dress completely afresh once her tie was back in her possession.

Sally stripped naked, scrubbed her face thoroughly, then began to dress. She took clean knickers and socks from her wardrobe, and pulled these on. Then she took a freshly-ironed white shirt, slipped her arms into the light sleeves, and buttoned the starchy cuffs. She fastened the button immediately below the collar, and worked her way down. Her breasts were not large, though the shirt bulged attractively. Lastly, she lifted her chin and buttoned the shirt-collar snugly around her neck.

Sally lifted her maroon tunic over her head, and allowed it to fall down to her shoulders, the skirt-hem settling about her knees. She belted the tunic with her grey sash, and the curve of her breasts and hips was revealed.

She sat on the bed, polished her sensible brown Oxfords with a cloth, and slipped these over her feet, lacing them up carefully.

Finally, and with a thumping heart, Sally moved to the mirror above her wash-basin, taking her school tie. She turned up her shirt-collar, beginning with the collar-tips and moving around to the back. The collar lay coolly against her jaw. This done, she looped the tie around her collar, adjusting the length of both ends so that, when knotted, the tie would be smart. With a careful but practiced ease, Sally formed a tie-knot, making sure not to twist the tie, and pushed the knot to her throat. She turned down the collar, and ran her finger in the tight space between it and her neck, making sure it was tidy. She pulled the front of her tunic forward, and slipped the tie between and over her breasts, where it lay happily. Letting the tunic fall back, Sally could see that everything was as it should be. She smiled, allowing her chin to fall so that she could feel the solid lump of the tie-knot.

Sally reached for her blazer, and put this on over her tunic.

Her uniform was complete. The soreness in her bottom would stop her sitting comfortably for a day or two, but Sally really couldn't care less.

Sally sighed deeply. It was over.

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