The Punishment for Stealing Ch. 01

After a busy and stressful day at work, I drove straight from my office and parked outside Miss Smith's house just before 7 PM, barely making it before my appointment time. The front door key was under the flower pot, as expected, so I let myself in and made my way to her study. Dressed in a dark suit, with a white shirt and crimson tie, I looked every bit the business man, but inappropriately dressed for what awaited me. Wanting to be neither early nor late, I waited for the hall clock to chime the hour before tapping nervously on the study door. At that moment, I wanted to be a million miles away, but knew that I had no option but to complete the punishment that Miss Smith had decreed was necessary for my recent behaviour.

I heard nothing, and was about to knock again, when she responded and instructed me to enter. Shaking slightly, I went into the room. Miss Smith was standing against the far wall wearing an elegant black dress but what attracted my eyes more was the riding crop that she was flexing between her hands. I wished her good evening. She didn't return my greeting, instead saying, very bluntly, "Strip off to your underwear, Joanna."

Without hesitating, I removed my jacket, folded it rather untidily and placed it on the floor. I pulled off my tie and placed it with the jacket. I wondered about asking permission to use the leather armchair to sit in while removing my shoes but thought better of it. Kneeling down, I untied my laces and slipped off my shoes and then my socks. Next followed my shirt and lastly my trousers. All were put into an untidy pile on the floor.

I stood up straight, feeling myself blushing, as Miss Smith walked towards me to inspect me in my underwear, which consisted of a pair of white satin knickers with a pink bow at the centre and a matching white underwired bra with delicate lace over the padded cups and a pink bow between the cups. It had been a difficult day at work and, unusually for me, I had had to keep my jacket on and buttoned up all day, despite the summer warmth and the odd comments from my colleagues. But that embarrassment didn't match what I felt now, as I stood in front of Miss Smith, feeling foolish, vulnerable and very afraid.

Miss Smith slowly walked around me, at one point moving my bra straps aside looking, I assumed, for marks to show that I'd been wearing my bra since the time she'd watched me get dressed that morning and taken some photographs. Apparently satisfied, she pinged my right shoulder strap, which made me flinch, and then addressed me. "Well, you seem to have followed my instructions, Joanna, which is just as well for you. So it'll just be six strokes of the crop, as agreed, .... unless you fail to remove your bra in 10 seconds ... starting now!"

Instantly, I moved both my hands around my back and sought to undo the double clasp. This was a manoeuvre that Miss Smith had insisted I practiced repeatedly at home over the past couple of days until I was as efficient as any woman. But now, with my fingers trembling, I was not convinced I could do it but, fortunately, it worked first time and I slipped out of my bra within the time frame. The relief I felt from removing the tight fitting garment was short lived as Miss Smith instructed "Now take your knickers off. Then go and bend over the armchair."

I pulled my knickers down and took them off before positioning myself at the back of the chair. Then I spread my feet a little and bent over, grasping the front of the chair seat with both hands. Miss Smith moved behind me and, after an audible tut, tapped both of my inside thighs with the crop. Instinctively, I moved my feet further apart into a position that proved extremely uncomfortable.

There then followed what seemed to be an interminable delay as Miss Smith found the best distance and angle to stand. A couple of times she laid the crop gently across my bottom, as if checking her position. There was then a brief silence which ended with a loud whooshing noise which terminated in the most incredible pain as the crop tore across the top of my bottom. It felt as if the crop had penetrated the skin, so intense was the sensation. My knees buckled, a wave of nausea swept over me, and I emitted a loud scream.

Barely had I recovered from this first stroke than the second landed, this time just below, but parallel with, the first. The pain was equally intense and I yelped, crying out, "Please! ...No more!" But the third and fourth deliveries quickly followed, each below the previous stripe. Beads of sweat had formed across my brow and I was gasping for breath, while resisting the urge to stand up because of the obvious consequences. The fifth stroke landed parallel with the others but across my upper thighs where there was less fat to absorb the impact. The resulting pain was indescribable and I again screamed out in despair. For the final stroke, Miss Smith changed her position slightly and then brought the crop down at an angle that cut through the welts from the previous five deliveries. This, completing a 5 barred-gate effect, was the worst of all, opening up the weals from the earlier strikes. By now my knees had buckled and I struggled to stay on my feet, using the chair back to take my weight. But at least it was all over.

I was kept waiting there for a couple of minutes while Miss Smith returned the crop to its place on the wall. During this time, I attempted to regain my composure by taking some deep and steady breaths. "Stand up, Joanna," she commanded, "but don't touch your bottom. What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I very sorry for my recent behaviour, Miss Smith, it won't happen again," I replied. "Please accept my apologies and thank you for punishing me."

"You'd better remind me why you have been punished, Joanna," she said, looking me straight in the eyes. Hesitatingly, and feeling very embarrassed, I responded in a low voice. "Last week, I stole that bra and those knickers off my neighbour's washing line, Miss," I whispered. "She saw me, caught me on camera, and reported me to you, Miss, you being her former teacher."

"She was very, very upset and didn't know who to turn to," added Miss Smith. "Fortunate for you that she sought my help, wasn't it? She could have gone to the police! As it is you've got off lightly -- you've acquired a feminine name, which I think suits you, you've worn her bra and knickers all day, which can't have been much of a hardship, and you've received six strokes of the crop. Do you think you've got off lightly, Joanna?"

"I think I've learnt my lesson, Miss," I replied, uncertain as to how best to reply.

"Answer the question, Joanna," insisted Miss Smith.

"Yes, Miss, I've got off very lightly. Thank you for being lenient," I lied, in as sincere a voice as possible.

"I agree," she said, "so I think a period of corner time will allow you to reflect more on what you did and why you had to be punished in this way. Go and face the wall, and place your hands on your head."

I did as I was told, overcoming the urge to rub my bottom, to feel how raised the welts were and whether there was any bleeding. These checks would have to wait for later. Standing with my nose a few inches from the wall, I placed my hands on my head.

"You can get closer than that," Miss Smith commented. "Let's have your nose brushing against the wall. And I want those hands on the top of your head, not around your neck."

Having assumed the required position, I heard the hall clock strike the quarter hour. In the space of 15 minutes, I had been both humiliated and cropped but my ordeal was not yet over. I heard a creak as Miss Smith sat down on the chair at her desk and then, a few moments later, she began tapping away on her keyboard. How long I was to stay facing the wall she'd not said and I couldn't ask. All I could do was stand as still as possible and wait, while listening for the strikes of the clock, wondering if my punishment was soon to come to an end.