Have been working on a new, and pretty long, story with a slightly different slant. This has two authority figures, a sister and brother, looking after two teenagers during a 1960's summer holiday. Their respective parents are on government business and the Gravestocks take in Harry and Alexandra for a few weeks. One of them, Harry, tells their tale many years after everything happened.
Currently getting feedback from a few friends who proof read my writings. Just for a change I have decided to post a taster. Will be here shortly, in full, and is pure CP of the FM/fm variety. Including a brief M/f interlude is also a first for this blog. Never thought I would ever go down that road but it makes narrative sense.
The following extract is the first occasion on which Alexandra gets caned by Miss Gravestock. That's F/f for any who get confused by my shorthand.
Alfred Roy
I
heard every stroke. I heard every stroke and every scream from Alexandra. Her
bedroom overlooked the garden and a small window was open. Later on I wondered
if this was deliberate but, at the time, I was merely transfixed by that
familiar sound from school. I was tackling some overgrown bramble at the side
of the cottage and a sudden and hefty thwack followed by a piercing scream stilled
my exertions. I rose and listened intently. A second dull thud and an equally
piercing scream confirmed the unseen picture. Alexandra was being caned. And it
was on her bottom, so she had said. I pictured her touching her toes or lying
on a bed or over a chair as I heard yet a third thwack, another scream, and a
plea to be let off any more. I was riveted by what I could not see. There
seemed to be a delay, only punctuated by Alexandra crying profusely and loudly,
and I mused on whether she was being caned on her knickers or had been made to
take them down. My second caning at school had been with my underpants
down, why should girls be treated differently. The thought of Alexandra being
caned on her bare bottom added to my fascination and I felt an ungentlemanly
thrill when the fourth stroke finally cut into her and invoked a further howl
of anguish. I could not help thinking that it was a good job the cottage was
fairly distant from its nearest neighbour. The fifth and sixth strokes were
delivered fairly quickly but were as vicious and loud as the previous four.
Alexandra screamed and cried and howled and sobbed and vowed to be good. She
was still sobbing when Miss Gravestock closed the small window, so perhaps it
was open deliberately, indicating that proceedings were at an end. The sobbing
grew fainter but I was still transfixed. It was a few moments before I realised
that Parson Gravestock was standing beside me. He had heard it all, especially
the last two or three strokes, and placed his hand on my shoulder. A fair punishment I think. She won’t be able
to sit down comfortably for a couple of hours but soon forgotten. Only way to
deal with naughty children. I was gobsmacked. What I saw as terrifying and
humiliating and painful he saw as a minor incident. I threw everything into
that afternoon’s weeding.
Harry and Alexandra (FM/fm) - to follow at the end of April