New theme, old stories

In a moment of self delusion, I decided that some of my newer followers might be interested in reading some of my older stories. I had hidden some of these for various reasons, and over time, I may make them available again.

In order to make them more accessible, I have also changed my blog theme so that the categories under which the stories are posted are easier to find.

So for starters, Sharon’s Awakening is now once again open for reading. You can find it here or look for it under the relevant category on the left hand side of the blog.

Happy reading !


Sharon’s Awakening – Part 1 – Corner Time

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 1 – Corner Time

Sharon’s Awakening – Corner Time
Copyright: gail.sher (c)

Her hands clasped behind her head, her thighs together in a miserable attempt at maintaining some semblance of modesty, Sharon stood in the corner. She was very close to the wall, the pressure from her nose pressing a coin against the creamy surface. Naked except for a pair of high heeled sandals, she felt sore and vulnerable. She wished that she had not chosen to wear them tonight. Elegant and sexy, they had become a self inflicted punishment, the harshness of the bare, hardwood floors offering no relief to her aching feet and ankles.

Her clothes were folded neatly, and placed in a neat bundle next to the door in the entrance hall. She had taken so much care in dressing for this evening, but as she stood in the corner, she reflected that it had all probably been a waste of time. Well, perhaps, first impressions did count for something?

Claire had barely glanced at her when she let her in. The exchange reminded Sharon of her last physical at the doctor, where the nurse had told her to remove her clothes, and that the doctor would soon be with her. No interest, no pleasantries, no attempt to connect. It had been the same with Claire this evening. A simple set of instructions, and then Claire had left her. It left Sharon feeling uncertain and insecure and wondering how Claire would relate to her.

So now she stood naked and vulnerable in the corner, like a disgraced child. She had lost track of time; perhaps it had been ten minutes or maybe twenty. A host of emotions washed through her: boredom, uncertainty, the anticipation of the punishment, and humiliation. She shuffled her body as the discomfort stated to touch every part of it, but stayed focused on pressing the coin to the wall. She suspected the penalty for letting it drop before she was given permission to move would probably result in a harsh response. Behind her, she could hear Claire’s own heels tapping out a rhythmic tattoo as she moved around the room, breaking the ominous silence. Breaths of her Claire’s perfume, unmistakably Armani, occasionally kissed her senses.

Sharon was usually aroused by Armani, a seductive and sensual perfume that usually evoked images of mountain flowers and forests. But tonight, it seemed to evoke a sense of fear and foreboding. It made her cast her mind back a few hours ago to her meeting with Claire at the ladies-only club. The chemistry of it all seemed so strange, but it was Claire’s dispassionate, cool character that was such a turn on.

Perhaps it was a throwback to her girlhood crush on a teacher at high school. It had all seemed so long ago now. Now in her mid-40’s, Sharon had gone to school in England when corporal punishment was still practiced at some of the girls high schools. At that stage of her life, she had been terrified at the prospects of getting punished. Some times, the girls walked out of the principles office with their hands tucked into their armpits, tears streaming down their red cheeks.

But it was the girls who received the cane that held a morbid fascination for her. She could imagine the scene behind those closed doors as her headmistress made them bend over and pin their skirts up. Her imagination ran wild as she heard the two or three cracks that signaled a cane wrapping itself around a proffered posterior, and then a few minutes later she would watch the chastised girl emerging from the office, rubbing their bottoms.

Sharon had tried to analyze it in her own mind many times. Was it the humiliation of being made to offer your buttocks for punishment, was it the inherent masochist that lived inside her, or was I the simple expression of one person’s power of another? Perhaps it was all three. Always too scared to do anything wrong, she had never been on the receiving end of either the cane or the strap, and now in her later life she had come to regret it.

It was Miss Brock, who had turned this fascination into a sexual fetish that seemed to grow stronger, year by year. A slim, pretty lady in her mid-twenties, Miss Brock was always well turned out. The model of femininity, she wore crisp summer frocks and strappy sandals. The colder months would see her dressed in stylish formal dresses, sheer stocking and elegant high heeled pumps. Sharon would be mesmerized by her, as she walked around the room, a long blackboard pointer gripped lightly between her long fingers, her red nails contrasting with the white beechwood pointer. She would pick out words on the board, tapping them when emphasis was needed. For Sharon, it became a symbol of power, but one that she never saw used.

It was in her final year at school, that Sharon came to the realization that this was a fetish of hers, but by then it was too late and the opportunity had passed her by. During a test, two of her classmates had been caught cheating; a really serious offense. Miss Brock called them to the front desk and wrote a short note out on piece of paper. Her voice did not show any emotion, as she passed it over to them with the instruction: “Take this to the headmistress. I have requested that she cane you.”

Sharon felt a flush of sexual excitement as she watched the two girls walk slowly from the room. She empathized with them and felt a sense of dread on their behalf, but in some strange way, she felt jealous! A deathly silence fell on the class, and remained that way as the girls desperately tried to refocus their minds and feverishly tried to finish their tests. A fail might well result in a similar note and walk down to the administrative building.

Eventually the girls returned. Miss Brock looked up as they entered the classroom, and waited expectantly as they walked stiffly across to her desk, handing them a note. She read it, and looked up at the two distressed girls. They were clearly in a state of considerable discomfort, and red eyes with tear streaked cheeks were evidence of the trial they had been through.

“Learned a lesson?” she asked, her voice even and matter of fact. “Now go and stand in front of the blackboard for the rest of the class.” They moved to where she indicated and faced the board.

Miss Brock lifted a piece of chalk, and heavily chalked in a circle level with each girls nose. “Now put your noses against the chalk circles, clasp your hands behind your necks, and make sure you don’t move until I give you permission.”

Sharon felt her breath quicken and a dampness beginning to build between her thighs. She could feel her cheeks ad breasts becoming flushed as blood seemed to rush to the surface. Her bra seemed to tease her nipples, which were becoming more sensitive by the second. As surreptitiously as she could, she began to rhythmically squeeze her thighs together. She watched the drama continue to unfold as Miss Brock moved behind the girls and deftly pinned up their skirts. One of them let out and audible squeal, whether from pain or protest, Sharon could not tell, as Miss Brock peeled their panties down to her mid-thighs, revealing a pattern of welts and bruises.

Sharon watched mesmerized, as the teacher’s delicate fingers traced along a few of the stroke marks lines. She was horrified at the wicked looking bruises that painted vivid reds and blues along the structured patterns of the raised welts, and desperately, but unsuccessfully tried to imagine what it must feel like.

Miss Brock’s cultured and measured voice broke the silence. She did not admonish the girls as Sharon had expected, nor did she offer any compassion. She simply made a matter-of-fact statement stating they would have trouble sitting for a few days. That’s just the way it would be!

The lesson ended in haze for Sharon. She packed up her books, and stood up to walk away from her desk. She felt awash in conflicting emotions; she was deeply disturbed by the sight of the punished bottoms, but felt a strange jealousy for what the punished girls had endured; the sight horrified but absorbed her; and the lack of compassion shown by Miss Brock confused, but strangely, aroused her. How could anyone act so dispassionately to the sight of those painful marks?

“Sharon….stay behind please, the rest of you girls can go.” The punished girls made themselves presentable and the class poured out of the door. Sharon waited with trepidation.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you Sharon? I was watching your reaction.” Miss Brock’s voice was steady, and there was no hint of accusation in it. She tapped the damp spot on the chair where Sharon had sat, and then pointed to the back of her skirt. “You had better go home and get changed Sharon, you don’t want the other girls to notice!”

Mortified, Sharon nodded and made for the door.

So now, Sharon waited in the corner, ready to pickup on her unsatisfied fetish which she had left behind twenty years ago.

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 2 – The Note

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 2 – The Note


Sharon’s Awakening – The Note
Copyright: gail.sher (c)

Sharon had sat stiffly in front of the little antique writing bureau, watching Claire finish off a note. Claire carefully folded the cream notepaper and sealed it, before penning an address on the front of the envelope. Sharon had a feeling of déjà-vue as she accepted the envelope that was handed across to her. Her chest tightened and she felt a slight dizziness. Surely this couldn’t be happening? She had fully expected Claire to give her a spanking in private, but what was this note for? It was the same calm look that she had seen on Mrs. Brock’s face as she had handed that note over to the two girls so many years back, sending them on that tense walk to the headmistress’s office.

“Take this note to Woman’s World, Sharon, and present it to Mrs. Harbord. You will go down-town and return by subway, and I expect to see your train tickets on your return.”
Sharon knew Woman’s World to be a female owned and run adult store in the trendy part of town, a few blocks away from the near the city centre.

The ride downtown had seemed interminable. But at last she stood in front of the shop and found herself slowly pushing the door open. She could feel her heart thudding as she walked out of the bright sunlight into the darkened interior. Her eye quickly took in the goods on display on the glass shelves towards the entrance: brightly colored dildos and plugs, chrome probes and bells, strap-on harnesses and dongs. But it was not these that she was here for. With her stomach churning, she made her way towards the back, and stood in front of the counter waiting for someone to serve her.

A door opened, and a tall, middle aged lady stepped through. Sharon took in the black dress, the gold necklace, the dark hair styled with full bangs and a clean straight style at the back. Chic and sleek, this was not the adult sex-shop attendant that Sharon had been expecting.

“Hi, is Mrs. Harbord in? “ Sharon asked timidly. Her voice seemed to crack and she was sure she sounded young and foolish.

There was no smile forth-coming. The response was polite but curt. “That is me. How can I help you?”

She could feel her hand trembling as she took the note from her purse. She reached across to hand it over. “I was asked to give you this note…and collect something to take back to … to …my…teacher.” Sharon stumbled over this phrase. She had been rehearsing it over and over in her mind on the trip down in the subway. How on earth should she represent her relationship to Mrs. Claire Evert? .

Mrs. Harbord deftly slipped the sealed envelope open, and extracted the note. Sharon felt her eyes being transfixed on the beautifully manicured, slender fingers that slowly extracted the note. The nails were long and fire-engine red and a collection of delicate gold rings, some with brightly colored gems sparkled under the light that shone from the fixtures over the counter.

Mrs. Harbord picked up her reading glasses from the counter and seemed to skim through the note, before starting at the top and reading it slowly. At last she looked over the rims at Sharon, and fixed her with a piercing stare.

“You are Sharon? Mrs. Evert sent you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Harbord”

“I see. So it seems that Mrs. Evert wants you to buy a cane here. She says it is to be used for discipline. Are you the intended recipient, Sharon?”

Sharon felt her knees start to shake. “Yes, Mrs. Harbord”

“Well, you see Sharon, we carry a number of canes. Some have novelty value only, though they sting to be sure. Then we have light canes to be used for ….lets just say, games between consenting adults. Mrs. Evert has specifically noted that she intends you to purchase a cane to be used for discipline. That is something that is somewhat stouter, and will cause you to think very carefully about committing any act that will result in its use. Are you sure this is what you need Sharon?”

Sharon felt herself go bright red. It seemed surreal. As if in a day dream, she nodded her head.

“Alright then, before we go and make a selection, you need to sign this waiver.” The business-like lady standing in front of Sharon opened a drawer under the counter, extracted a form and slid it across to Sharon. “You need to sign at the bottom. It acknowledges that you understand that this purchase will be sure to cause you intense pain, will leave marks, and you indemnify this business, myself, and any user from any suffering and pain that it causes. You may wish to read it before you sign.”

Sharon picked up the pen that had been placed on the counter and hurriedly signed at the bottom of the form. Her hands felt sweaty and a cloudy film seemed to cover her eyes. There was no way she felt that she could stand here and read through all the legalese that filled the form in front of her. She pushed the form back to Mrs. Harbord and clutched her purse tightly.

“Come this way then, Sharon.”

She followed Mrs. Harbord to the back of the shop, and stepped through the door that was opened for her. It was a room that was almost as large as the front public area of the shop. Her eyes took in the rows of canes that hung from supports in the wall in front of her. She could never have believed that there could be so many different types. Some were hooked at the end, like the classic English canes she had seen when browsing the web. Others were straight and seemed to have a handles wrapped with red or black leather. There were dark woods and light woods, whites and blacks.

On the side walls, here eyes briefly absorbed the sights of floggers and bull whips, crops and paddles. She briefly looked at the large, old wooden desk that stood in the middle of the floor, but retuned to watch Mrs. Harbord who had walked directly to a selection of canes towards the center of the far wall.

Sharon felt that she was in a waking dream, as she watched the elegant hand reach up and carefully select two canes. She watched Mrs. Harbord bend them, and then alternately flick them through the air as she judged the whippiness of each. Mrs. Harbord turned around, and ran an appraising eye up and down Sharon, and then turned back to replace one of the canes on the wall.

With the chosen cane clasped delicately between her fingers, almost like a conductor’s baton, she turned to Sharon and looked directly into her eyes. The crooked handle rested along the inside of her slender arm. “Sharon, Mrs. Evert has sent you here to purchase the implement that I am sure will be used repeatedly and to great effect on your bottom. I believe that this is the ideal cane for you. It is the highest quality rattan, supplied by the manufacturers of quality English schoolhouse canes for the last eighty years.”

She looked at Sharon for a few moments, and then continued. “The thing is, Sharon, that we have a no returns policy in this business. In view of this, Mrs. Evert requests in her note that you brought to me…”

She left the sentence hanging in the air for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to Sharon.

“…that we try it out before you leave.”

Sharon felt the blood drain from her face and her knees turn to jelly. She was sure that she would wake up shortly and this would all turn out to be an unpleasant dream.

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 3 – The Cane

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 3 – The Cane


Sharon’s Awakening – The Cane
Copyright: gail.sher (c)

Mrs. Harbord tapped the cane lightly against her leg as she ran her eyes appraisingly up and down Sharon. She moved in measured steps towards the desk, and then tapped the cane across the table’s surface. “Come on then, young lady, look smart now! Let’s have you bent across the desk and make sure this is the rod is just right for you.”

The words hung pregnant in the air, and Sharon felt her feet were glued to the ground.

“Move it, girl, get across here right now! Delay a bit longer and it will be two or three canes I will be testing!”

Sharon dragged her feet into the middle of the room, and bent over like she had seen it being done in those clips she had watched. She laid her cheek sideway on the cool wood, and reached forward to clasp the edge of the desk. Her skirt felt taught across her bottom, but she still reached back to tug it down. As she did so, she felt it being snatched away from her fingers. With her heart pounding, she realized that Mrs. Harbord was rolling it up across her back, leaving her bottom naked and vulnerable. She wished now that she had acted more modestly when picking her clothes this morning; it seemed silly and reckless to be wearing only a thong.

“Hmmm…interesting choice of underwear, isn’t it? I would have thought you would choose something more modest for a meeting like this.” Mrs. Harbord commented. Sharon felt the thong being bunched up even tighter as it was pulled securely between the cheeks of her bottom. Feeling humiliated and vulnerable. Sharon waited for Mrs. Harbord to finish fussing around behind her. The schoolmarm tone announced that the preparations were complete. “Right, that’s better. A nice clean target, and all the better to see the results!”

Sharon sensed Mrs.Harbord stepping away, and before she had a chance to collect herself, there was a whistle in the air, followed by a crack, and then her bottom seemed to ignite into flames. The pain was indescribable, and Sharon felt herself shooting up into a standing position, and grabbing at her burning bottom in a desperate attempt to soothe it. A scream of agony escaped from her lips as she battled to deal with the sensation. It felt as if a red hot branding iron had seared her across her backside. The pain came in waves that seemed to grow stronger by the second.

A firm hand pushed her in the small of her back. “Back down girl, get into position. Right this minute, and don’t you dare get up before I give you the word!” Sharon reluctantly bent over. All feelings of shame and humiliation had evaporated and all she could think of was the agony in her bottom as she battled to draw in air into her lungs.

“Arch you back down…push your bottom out, girl…further, further.”

Sharon desperately battled to comply. She felt the cane tap on the inside of her calves.

“Spread them wider, girl.”

Then suddenly there was that awful swoosh and crack and the lightning arc of pain. She barely started to rise, when the first cut was followed by a second. That hand from behind her pushed her back down across the desk. She felt the cold hard wood pressing into her breasts, and the dampness of tears flowing down her cheeks. She desperately kicked her feet up and down in a desperate attempt to find some relief. A light finger traced lines across her burning bottom, and then touched her gently on her sex.

“This certainly seems to be the right cane for you. Flexible, yet firm. It gives the perfect cut without breaking the flesh. I am sure that Mrs. Evert will be satisfied with it. Right, stand up girl. Pull yourself together now, tidy yourself up, and come out to the front office. We’ll settle up your account and then you can be on your way.”

Sharon stood up stiffly and pulled her skirt straight. She watched the door swing closed behind Mrs. Harbord, and then she quickly tried to un-bunch her underwear and get more comfortable. Her bottom was a burning, and she could feel three welts tracing lines of pain across her cheeks. She brushed the tears from her eye with the back of her hand, and went out through the door to the counter.

In a daze, Sharon paid for and picked up the proffered cane before heading for the door. She barely noticed the young woman who had been browsing, following her out. Mercifully, it was just a short walk to the subway, but as she stepped into the train, she realized with horror why Mrs. Evert had instructed her to use public transport.

Here she was, standing for all to see, with a cane in her hand. The blood drained from her face as she heard a voice next to her. It was the young woman who had followed her out of the shop.

“Just bought that cane, have you? I saw you in the “Women’s World”.

Sharon stared at her, not daring to answer. Then she nodded quickly and looked down.

Her unwelcome interrogator would not stop, and she certainly didn’t keep her voice low. A broad grin broke out across her pixie like face. “Mrs. Harbord tested it out on you, didn’t she? That’s why you aren’t sitting, isn’t it?”

Sharon felt the blood rushing back into her face. She nodded again. Fortunately, it was the middle of the day and the train carriage was almost empty. A smartly dressed business woman sat in a nearby seat, tuning into the conversation. A sardonic grin played across her lips.

“Ooh…she whips them in like crazy! It’s always bad luck to be purchasing anything there if she is on duty! How many did she give you? Three or four? You aren’t going to be able to sit comfortably for days! The bruises will be awesome!” The chattering continued, the young woman seemingly oblivious of the interest it was starting to raise from some of the other nearby occupants. “I bought a tawse there once, and she managed to cut me up right there between my thighs.Almost hit my sensitive parts, she did ! Never going to buy that sort of thing there again when she is on duty! What’s your husband going to say?”

“I don’t have a husband,” Sharon mumbled. “Sorry…this is my stop. I need to be leaving now.”

Sharon made for the train door, and mercifully escaped. The pain had turned to a warm glow now. It was actually quite pleasant. She felt her juices start to flow and suddenly she desperately needed to get to the bathroom for a pee. Thank goodness Mrs. Evert’s apartment was just half a block’s walk from the subway station.

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 4 – Life Drawing

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 4 – Life Drawing


Sharon’s Awakening – Life Drawing
Copyright: gail.sher (c)

Sharon pressed the door buzzer and waited. Her bladder was complaining, her bottom ached, and her mind was a swirl of emotions. She wished that she had worn something more substantial under her skirt; every step had been uncomfortable as her skirt swished across the tender flesh. The darned thing she had so rashly put on this morning was bunching uncomfortably between her cheeks, and a dampness in them seemed cloying. She was sure that every one around her on the street had seen her carrying the cane and would know it’s intimate purpose.

As she was about to buzz again, the door opened, and Claire stood before her. Her mind in pieces Sharon looked up expectantly into that serene face, hoping to find some element of compassion or sympathy.

“Ah, you’re back, I see. The class has been waiting for you – come along now please.”

Sharon did a double-take. What class could this be? Claire had told her to come right back after her shopping expedition; surely it would be to administer some love and care?

Claire took Sharon by the arm and led her into the large sitting room. A make-shift studio had been set up, and about eight young ladies in their early and mid twenties sat on comfortable folding chairs, drawing boards and pads across their knees. They were arranged in a semi-circle around a makeshift stage, represented by a heavy canvass sheet six foot square. In the middle of the stage stood a large easel supporting a blackboard, a small desk stood alongside.

Sharon felt their eye’s boring into her expectantly, as she was led in, and up to the board. She clutched the cane protectively to her chest. Her bladder ached, but there wasn’t any way to exit this situation gracefully. The silence was oppressive; the rustle of paper on one of the drawing boards broke the mood.

“It’s my Life Drawing class, Sharon. This group meets here weekly. Today’s study will be “Young lady in a 1970’s classroom” ”

Claire nudged Sharon closer to the easel and wheeled her around so that she was facing the board.. “You know the drill, Sharon – now get your nose against the board and remain there until you are given permission to move.” The tone was conversational and pleasant, without any hint of anger or oppression. Something compelled Sharon to comply, and she felt her nose rubbing against the grainy surface. The chalky scent brought memories of her schoolroom classroom flooding back, and that scene that had aroused her so many years ago caused an instantaneous sympathetic reaction.

Sharon could feel the blood rushing into her face and neck, and she barely felt her skirt being rolled up and pinned to her back. In a daze she stepped out of her panties that Mrs. Evert had lowered, and without even being instructed, she clasped her hands behind her head. She sensed gentle fingers tracing the tender welts across her bottom, and as she descended into her own world a rush of well-being seemed to overcome her. She didn’t care that her punished bottom and her swollen sex was on display, and her shame no longer felt wrong.

In the background she could hear papers rustling, and the skid of charcoals flying across the pads. The harsh studio lights glowed against her sensitive skin, but she was unaware of the dramatic shadows they cast as they highlighted the bumps and welts tattooed by the cane on her creamy skin.

Time drifted and her period of reflection was brought to and end by Claire’s silky voice.
“Alright class, that is it for the day. It looks like you all managed to create some dramatic figure drawings of our penitent subject.”

Bare bottomed and glassy eyed, Sharon turned around to see Claire standing over an earnest looking artist who was seated at the extreme edge of the circle. The girl’s face was flushed, and her fingers seemed to be trembling slightly. Even from where she stood, Sharon could see the picture on the board; it was of no penitent, but a well formed bottom filled the entire sheet.

Three black and white charcoal lines blistered their way across the image like waves across an angry sea. As if in a sexual frenzy, the young artist had worked the charcoal with the tip of her middle finger, with an ever increasing sense of urgency, into an orgy of swirls and circles that raged from the pores of the page in a paroxysm of dark passion. Brilliant white flecks of seething foam lined the angry waves as emotion boiled in their depths.

Claire’s tone was as neutral and un-accusing as ever. “You enjoyed creating this didn’t you Vanessa? I can see you really connected with the material – the subject really excited you. The guest washroom is just inside the entrance hall; you might want to go and freshen up before you leave.”

The pause seemed to last an eternity, then Claire elegantly bent over to whisper in the girl’s ear “……or perhaps you would like to stay behind after the class to discuss your reaction with me and how we can develop this passion?

It all seemed so familiar now to Sharon. She pulled herself into the present, and made herself presentable. She walked across and sat down on the chair next to the agitated young artist. She rested a calming hand on her wrist. “I know how you feel, Vanessa. I have been there myself. In fact, that is how you find me here today. Join me, my friend – let’s discover this side of ourselves together.”

Sharon stood up, looked down compassionately at the red faced artist, and turned and made her way hurriedly to the guest washroom for that much needed pee.

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 5 – Spreading the Warmth

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 5 – Spreading the Warmth

Sharon’s Awakening – Spreading the Warmth
Copyright: gail.sher (c)

The fire burned warmly in the hearth as Sharon handed Claire a liquor glass brimming with Bailey’s Irish Cream. She looked down at her mentor, and took in her poise, her elegance, her style. The blonde hair framed a finely featured face that refused to surrender to middle age, and then flowed down the nape of her neck, stopping just short of a black cocktail dress. A string of pearls looped down, showing off their pinkish luster.

“Thanks, Sharon!”  . “Those welts you showed off earlier looked horrific! We may have to do something to prevent a repeat.”

Sharon’s head swum. She had been sent out to buy a cane, and now Claire wanted to prevent a repeat?

“Turn around, and let’s take a look, shall we?”

Claire’s mellifluous voice with that hypnotic quality made Sharon putty in the older woman’s hands. Sharon swung around, and reached back to raise her hem. Awkwardly clutching her dress at the side with her elbows, she edged her panties down to offer Claire a view. She felt Claire’s forefinger tracing its way across a welt, then gently pinching and probing the tenderized flesh. A set of fingers danced across her left bottom cheek, stooped at her crack momentarily, and then resumed on the other side. A sharp smack delivered to the right cheek of her bottom set of a stinging sensation that made her gasp, and caused her to shoot up straight, reaching back to massage her painful bum

“It’s no good, Sharon! You will just have to take it back and get something less harsh”

Sharon felt her heart miss a beat. There was no way she was going back anywhere near that awful woman and shop. “But I can’t, Claire!”,   she protested.  “They definitely said there were no returns!”

“Sharon, sweetie, I have dealt with Mrs. Harbord before. Just go down tomorrow, with the cane and explain to her that I really don’t think this is right for us. I am sure that for a small re-stocking payment that she will allow us to upgrade to a leather strap.”

Sharon’s mind raced: another trip down in the subway carrying a cane; another interaction with Mrs. Harbord; another trial of the implement. He face flushed. “I won’t do it, Claire! You just don’t know how awful it was!” She subconsciously stamped her foot, shaking her head.

“Sharon, you are behaving like a child now!” Claire’s voice had turned icy, and the face that had looked so compassionate just a few minutes ago, seemed hard and chiseled. “You will do as you are told! When I speak to Mrs. Harbord tomorrow, I will expect her to tell me that she found you waiting eagerly outside the shop when she opened up, that you were the model of politeness, and that you conducted yourself with the class and dignity that I expect of all those who I choose to mentor.”

A pregnant silence hung in the air as Claire, sitting regally in her wing backed chair, studied her. Sharon watched he mentor sip delicately, running her tongue around her lips to catch every lingering trace of the milky liquor. The fire crackled in the background and the wall lights cast a warm, yellow hue on the creamy colored walls. At last Claire broke the silence, a neutral tone masking her annoyance. “Let’s have you over my knee now; I want to take a closer look at these welts, and need to attend to your petulance.”

Sharon looked aghast at Claire; her mind swam. Claire was expecting her, Sharon, a thirsty something woman with a career, to go over a knee for a spanking like a child?  This couldn’t be happening! But it was, and as if in trance, she moved forward, and bent over the proffered knee. She felt her panties being drawn down and Claire’s cool hand settled on her bottom.

Sharon looked down at the feet that swum into view: beautifully pedicured toes, scarlet red nails set off against the silver sandals, heels raised on delicate stilettos, delicate straps setting off the delicate arches. Claire’s hands gently started to smack her tender bottom. The rhythm set of waves of discomfort as they aggravated the tender flesh. The tempo of the smacks increased, and as the heat lit up her backside, Sharon felt a delicious warmth being ignited between her thighs.

Desperately, Sharon sought to grind herself down on the front of her dress that had bunched up between Claire’s knee and her pubis. In one of those magical moments of unspoken communication and natural choreography, an erotic and beautiful dance developed. Claire brought her hand down in three stinging slaps, and then gently massaged the fire-red flesh. Sharon responded, grinding herself down hard on her mentor’s knee, then straining her bottom out again to receive the slaps. Again and again the sequence repeated, as all of Sharon’s inhibitions evaporated and she found herself desperately straining for sexual release.

It all seemed so natural: the fire crackling in the background, the exquisite Brahms melodies eddying around the room, the warmth and security of Claire’s hands, the firmness of Claire’s knees beneath her. The spanking had stopped, and probing fingers massaged the slippery, swollen, tender lips that peeked out from between her thighs. The glow that had been concentrated in her nether regions suddenly enveloped her entire body, and in a flood of well-being, Sharon let out shudder of release. Her moan of “Aaagh !” was one of pleasure, so different from the same sound that had escaped her lips earlier that day as the cane started the sensitizing process.

As Sharon scrambled back to her feet and pulled her panties up, she looked sheepishly at Claire. “Do I really have to take the cane back tomorrow?”

A sardonic smile played across Claire’s crimson lips. “Yes, Sharon, I am sure that Mrs. Harbord will be delighted to see you in the morning!”

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 6 – Returns Policy

Sharon’s Awakening – Part 6 – Returns Policy


Sharon’s Awakening – Returns Policy

Copyright: gail.sher

“I thought I told you that there were no returns?” Mrs. Harbord’s tone was harsh and uncompromising. Sharon felt the blood rush to her cheeks. This situation was totally unfair. First Claire had put her in this awkward situation, and now this horrible woman was treating her like a child.

“It’s just that Claire said it was too harsh, and she was sure you would be able to take it back for a small restocking fee. We didn’t use it, I promise!”

A smile flitted momentarily across Mrs. Harbord’s pursed lips and then vanished.

“A restocking fee?  And you haven’t used it? Well…let me think a moment.” She glanced down at her watch, and then stared at Sharon. The eyes seemed to pierce Sharon’s soul. “Actually, I think I might be able to accommodate you…just this time, mind you!”

She came around from behind the counter, and beckoned Sharon to follow her.

She opened a door to a passage, and motioned Sharon to enter the first door.

“Wait in there…someone will be here to get you shortly”

It seemed that the door had barely closed, before it was opened again. Sharon looked up, and was surprised to see the young lady who had accosted her at the shop yesterday. The lady’s face lit up; “OH !!! It’s you! I saw you here yesterday – remember me?”

The thought: “Who couldn’t” flashed through Sharon’s mind. “Yes, hi.”  The greeting seemed banal and droll, but it didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of her visitor.

“Let me introduce myself; I am Tami, I help out here on Demo Days. I am thrilled you are playing today !”

Demo Days, Playing….the words tumbled around Sharon’s mind. What on earth was going on?

“Come, Sharon – you don’t mind if I call you that? I mean, you don’t need to be called by some hoity-toity title like Doctor or Professor…or Mrs. do you?”

Sharon smiled. “Sharon is just fine”

She let herself be led down the corridor and into a larger room. Her eyes grew wide as she eyed the trestle that stood ominously in the middle of the floor. It was solidly built, and its top bar was heavily padded and covered in a rich, brown, thick, leather.  Sharon couldn’t take her eyes off it. Her eyes rested on a section of leather towards the one end that looked oiled and shiny. She approached it and ran her hands along it, taking in the smoothness and contrasting it with the harshness of the rest of the top,

Tami watched her reaction with amusement. “It’s from all the girly juices, silly!! Isn’t it funny how a good spanking seems to open the floodgates?”

Sharon stepped back, shocked. She instinctively brought her fingers up to her nose, but there was no obvious lingering scent. She looked around the room. Apart from the ominous trestle, and two huge wall mirrors at opposite ends of the room, the walls were bare and the room was unremarkable.

Tami looked down at the clipboard she was clutching. “So Mrs. Harbord says here that you will pay a restocking fee of three strokes in demo mode. After that, you can take the leather strap you were sent for and be on your way”

“Demo mode? What on earth do you mean?”, Sharon asked, looking at her blankly.

“You will see!! Now, do you want it on the bare, or across your panties?” The voice was unsympathetic, but friendly.

Sharon blushed. “I don’t see why on earth I should bare myself again! Three strokes? That seems excessive! And why would she want to cane me again ….I just don’t get it!”

Tami’s eyed Sharon, and then reached out to touch her shoulder.

“Look Sharon, I really suggest you take them on the bare. At least that way I can see what damage is being done” She leaned forward and whispered in Sharon’s ear. “I will try and avoid crossing yesterday’s welts; that can be agony!”

Sharon stepped back and gingerly lowered her panties.

“Your dress too! You can leave your sandals on, they won’t get in the way,” Tami chuckled. “In fact, they may help you present even better!”

Shrugging her frock off, Sharon stood self consciously next to the trestle and looked expectantly at Tami.

“Now what? You expect me to get onto that contraption where other woman have spread their personal fluids? Well, I won’t!”

Tami ignored her, and beckoned her over to one of the mirrors. She pulled a thick red marker from her pocket, and clicked off the cap.

“Let’s take a look, Sharon. I tell you what; you can mark on your own bum where you want me to aim for.”

She handed the pen over to the bemused Sharon and watched as the slender woman rotated slowly in front of the mirror. Mrs. Harbord’s ministrations from yesterday had resulted in a wash of bruises, manifesting themselves in reds, blues and purple hues.

“You want me to mark on my own backside where I want you to hit me?”

Sharon’s voice was incredulous. The nod she received confirmed her worst fears. She studied herself in the mirror; all the hours at the gym had certainly paid off. Looking over her shoulder, first at the mirror, and then at her body, she found two areas where the welts seemed well spaced, and tentatively dabbed red marks in the gaps.

Sharon desperately searched for other targets. A set of conflicting emotions flooded her, threatening to bring tears to her eyes. On the one hand, she felt grateful for being allowed to pick spots that would cause her less pain, but on the other, this had to be the most demeaning experience she had ever endured. She had reveled in the erotica she read where the recipient had to ask for the next stroke, but she had never dreamed that she would be in an even more humiliating situation: not only was each red mark she applied calling out: “Please may I have another ?”, but it was screaming out “Hit me here, please !”

She turned away from the mirror, and looked at Tami with pleading eyes “I can only find room for two, Tami! Please don’t give me more than that! I beg of you!”

“Ok, that gives me guidance for the first two – thanks for your help! We’ll worry about the third once when the time comes. Now let’s have you up here, and see how we get along.”

She looked gratefully at Tami, as her dress was draped over the shiny section of the leather and she allowed herself to be guided to the end of the trestle.

“Spread your feet wider Sharon.….now bend forward and lay the upper part of your body along the horse.”

Tami chuckled.  “It’s lucky you are wearing high heels, else you would be on your tiptoes! Oh, my you present so well!”

Sharon sensed Tami, moving to her side, and then felt a broad strap settling gently on her back. Moments later, it was cinched tight, and she felt immobilized. Sharon looked into the mirror, and did a double take. Not only did her fear strained face stare back at her, but she could see the reflection of the mirror from the opposite wall. And staring at her from that one was her bottom. Her eyes were transfixed by the sight: the flesh garishly painted with bruises, her bottom hole seeming to wink grotesquely back at her, and a pair of aroused genitals signaling their in complicity in this deviant activity.

As her mind came to grips with what she was seeing, she thanked her stars that she was alone with only this strange girl Tami to see her predicament. Her trance was broken by the first cut finding it’s mark. The pain coursed through her body as she tried to rear up against the strap that held her so firmly down. She opened her eyes to see the reflection of her bottom waving wildly, desperately seeking relief.

As she settled, she felt Tami’s finger tap at her tortured bottom, and then heard Tami’s excited voice. “Perfect! I got it right on the mark! What a shot! Let’s try for the next. This one isn’t going to be so easy…much less room here.”

Sharon barely took in that awful sound of the cane cutting through the air. The crack against her flesh and the pain seemed to come simultaneously. She jerked up uncontrollably and felt the trestle shift beneath her. Her heels beat a tattoo as she desperately stamped her stilettos on the tiled floor. Wave after wave of agony reverberated around her buttocks as she desperately gyrated her hips, searching inconsolably for relief.

After what seemed hours, the pain slowly ebbed, and Sharon studied herself tearfully in the mirror. The defiant, pet bottom was now slumped down on crumbling legs. No more conspiratorial winks and nods from her erogenous zones; they had retreated in shock.

“That was a rough one!! The target was just too small for me. I think I crossed two of yesterdays. Mrs Harbord’s gong to be none to pleased with me for that, if she ever finds out! One more, and then we will have you out of here!”

In the depths of her misery, Sharon heard Tami prattle on gaily and tried to shut her mind down. She was never quite sure if Tami had pulled back on the last cut, which landed on her upper thigh, of if she was too far down in her own space. She heard an awful whine come from within her throat, and then a terrible stillness. The hands that applied cream to her bottom were neither as smooth nor tender as Claires, and she found she lacked the energy to stand upright once the back strap was released.

How long she lay there, Sharon couldn’t tell. But after some time, Tami helped her up, and handed her dress. “I wouldn’t put on panties if I were you – give your bum a rest!” came the cheerful advice.

Tami took Sharon by the arm, and led her out of the room and back down the corridor to the main shop. As they entered, a group of customers let themselves out the door and onto the street. Tami steered Sharon through the shop to a back room with a huge curtain hanging at one end.

“Look, does this look familiar? I bet you provided a fantastic show!”

As Tami pulled the curtain back, Sharon blanched. She felt desperate for air, and her knees threatened to collapse from beneath her. With shock, she realized she was looking through a one way mirror at the room in which she had just paid the “restocking fee”. The shoppers that had just left the shop were not shoppers at all, but members of the community who had come in to see the weekly demo – and she unwittingly had been the star of today’s show.

“I need to leave!”, Sharon stammered.

“Don’t forget to take your replacement strap! If you come back for it, I am sure Mrs.Harbord will remember that she needs to try it out on you before you take it home!”

Tami handed over a gift wrapped article, the package cheerfully sealed with a bright sticky seal containing a picture of crossed crook handled canes.