Discipline goes outdoors, the original…Timekeeping, Tawses, and Tears?
REAL Spanking Short Stories from The Life and Times of...
Driving down the M6 on a crisp autumnal Sunday morning back in 2010, I had one or two things on my mind as the speedometer hit 90 mph. I was heading for a tawsing in the woods somewhere ‘down south,’ and I wasn’t too thrilled by the prospect.
I’d been gobbing off rather a lot recently and despite several patient warnings from my dominant, I’d managed to earn myself twelve with the tawse. There was no question that was merited, none whatsoever, and I was fully determined to get it over and done with as quickly as humanly possible, but I really hadn’t grasped the full implications. Sir had a point to make and he was certainly going to make it!
My mind was focussed on not being late. I’d been warned on about 1,000 previous occasions to arrive in plenty of time, especially for discipline. But time keeping is not exactly my strong suit, and although I thought I had left in plenty of time, I was beginning to worry that I might not make it as the speedometer crept towards 100 mph. This in and of itself was a dilemma. I was obviously not permitted to break a speed limit - which on a UK motorway is 70 mph - however, if I were late, I would surely be in more trouble than I would be for a bit of speeding. Besides, it could be argued that the M6 TOLL road is a private road, and as such can be treated like the autobahn in Germany: drive as fast as you like - at least that was my interpretation of the rules as a young twenty-something!
I screeched into the carpark of the Bird in Hand on the A4, somewhere between Maidenhead and Reading, and immediately clocked Mr. James’ dark aura. I could tell from a full 50 metres away that he wasn’t best pleased about something as he lent dangerously casually, against the side of his Jag, smoking a cigar.
His eyes followed me as I parked up, collected my things together, and made my way over to him. I stopped just short of the car and was dragged into an enormous bear-hug. He held me very tightly, kissed me hard, and then hugged me even tighter. As he did so he growled into my ear.
“How exactly did you get here at the speed of light, young lady?”
“You told me to not be late!”
“Sir!”
“Sir.”
“Don’t make me tell you again, Jacqui.”
“No, sir, sorry. I didn’t want to be late.”
“Good, you shouldn’t ever be late and especially not for discipline. However, can you remember our previous conversation regarding driving?”
“Yes, sir, but you needn’t worry as I did the smart thing and took the autobahn!”
He almost cracked a smile at that one… almost.
“Jacqui, I’m going to ask you a simple question and I expect a straight answer, clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said rolling my eyes.
“Do NOT roll your eyes at me.”
“Nnn no, sir, I’m sorry.”
“You will be sorry very soon, young lady. Very soon. Now, answer my question. Did you, or did you not break a speed limit on your journey down here this morning?”
“I wasn’t late though, was I, sir?”
“Jacqui!”
“Yes, sir, I broke several, no, ALL of the speed limits on the way down here. But-”
“No buts!”
“But, sir, there IS no speed limit on the autobahn that’s the whole point of it! I paid my money to access a private motorway so the traffic pigs can stick it where the sun don’t shine, legally speaking…”
He put his enormous bear-paw of a right hand up and barked.
“That is enough. I perfectly understand the autobahn argument, however, I specifically told you that breaking speed-limits whilst driving was unacceptable.”
“But, sir, it was either that or be late, and we know what happens when I’m late, don’t we?!”
“Jacqui, I am trying to teach you to be more responsible. You are supposed to leave earlier and build in contingency time, should things go wrong on a long journey. Not pay a fiver to take the autobahn and drive at the speed of light.”
“Slight exaggeration.”
“Sir! Jacqui. Sir. You will address me as ‘sir’ at all times.”
“Oh for God’s… not this again. I’m sleeping with you for fuck’s sake! I’m not calling you ‘sir.’”
“Get in the car and do not say another word.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, immediately testing his sharpness. He glared at me and the eye-contact was such that I almost lost control of my bladder. Not really as brave as you think you are, Jacqs…
I lowered my eyes, hung my head the tiniest fraction, and slipped into the passenger seat of his posh-boy Jag. I put my seatbelt on slowly and without attitude. I figured I’d said enough.
He wasn’t very talkative on the short car journey and I especially didn’t like the way in which he applied the hand-brake on arrival. I think it fair to say that Mr. James was extremely unhappy with my behaviour, and if I had been in any doubt about that, his final words before ordering me out of the car put me straight.
“Right, you are here to be punished for your ‘gob and lip,’ over the phone. So, I find it particularly disappointing that you have arrived full of the very same vim and vigour. I shall be instantly curbing your attitude, young lady, and if I have anything other than absolute compliance from you then you will seriously regret it.”
I looked up at him from under my eyebrows, I call it The Labrador as it is reminiscent of that lovely, innocent, if not hard-done by, expression. He stared it down, knowing exactly what my game was. It’s your fault for dating an experienced git, Jacqui, they don’t buy these womanly wiles, they don’t buy them at all. Hey ho!
“Get out and get yourself ready because I can assure you, you are not going to enjoy this.”
I got out of the vehicle and followed on just behind him, head obviously bowed in case he turned round and detected any cockiness, I didn’t want him to misinterpret anything right now. In truth, I was feeling extremely nervous and full of regret. As we picked our way through the almost leaf-less wood, my thoughts turned to the implement that was tucked into his greatcoat inside pocket. A 17-inch (44 centimetre) long, quarter of an inch (0.6 cm) thick, sturdy old tawse. I’d held it before and had been immediately struck by its lack of flexibility, and the coarseness of the leather. I also recall noting the glint in Mr. James’ eyes as he had watched my reaction to seeing and handling it for the first time. He had taken it off me and warned that it would be held in reserve for the more serious matters, should they arise at some point in the future.
Well, one of those very matters was here right now, and it briefly crossed my mind that in his head the tawse must rank higher than the cane. As why else had I already endured around three canings, in our first nine months as a long-distance couple, but zero tawsings. This was not a happy thought. All three canings had been murder, and the first one was especially savage. I was marked for a full 21 days post that first epic caning. There were very good reasons for the severity of that first disciplinary caning, but I shall share those with you another time!
“Right,” he said, pulling me straight back into my present predicament, “take down your jeans, remove your blouse and sweater, and I want you facing that tree with your hands on your head.”
All I could think about was how his breath was clearly visible on this chilly autumnal morning. I had no idea what the temperature was but I’m guessing at single figures. Stood facing the tree, effectively only wearing my bra and knickers I knew was going to freeze. You might think I ought to have been worried about passers-by, dog walkers, and/or ramblers but I can honestly tell you all I gave one about in this moment was how cold it was.
Goosebumps were up all over my body and I was succumbing to the occasional shudder, although I am willing to concede that they could have been purely as a result of my abject terror about imminent proceedings. I wondered briefly what on earth he was faffing about for; it hadn’t yet dawned on me that he was allowing my fear to increase to appropriately high levels for the lesson to begin. Finally, he spoke.
“I was going to allow you to keep your bra on, but as your attitude has been far below standard since you arrived, you will remove it.”
I didn’t hesitate, I dropped my hands from my head, and whilst still facing the tree, swiftly removed it. He took it from me without a word and I wondered if he’d be letting me have it back… ever. I was quick for two reasons, I didn’t want anything added to the charge sheet at this late stage and it was so frickin’ cold that my lacy white bra really wasn’t going to make any difference to me, or so I believed at the time. However, I really wasn’t expecting what happened next.
I felt the cut, and heard the snap of a proper pair of policeman’s handcuffs - and yes, there were only police ‘men’ back in the days of these kinds of cuffs - as it snapped around my right wrist. It snatched my breath away. He never said anything about handcuffs. Sir then moved around from behind me to the opposite side of the tree, and gestured for me to give him my left hand. As I did so he snapped the other cuff around my left wrist. My arms only made it around the tree trunk because of the few chain links between the chrome plated steel handcuffs. These really are quite tight, actually!
He gave me a wolfish grin as he first looked down at my breasts, pressed most uncomfortably up against the scratchy bark of the tree, and then back up at me, eyes dark. I swallowed hard and realised for the first time just how uncomfortable the next minutes were going to be. Up until this moment I hadn’t been scared enough, not for what was to come. Inexperience. Naivety. Immaturity.
“There will be twelve strokes, you will acknowledge each one and thank me courteously. If you lose count, or I don’t hear you, I will begin again from one. Have I made myself understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. Confidence rapidly leaching away, as the full implications of my hasty and ill-judged prior actions, finally began to dawn on me.
What is taking him so long? Just get the HELL on with it! I thought as I stood there, jeans around my ankles, naked from the hips up a picture of dreadful anticipation (at least from my perspective).
“I was going to allow you to keep your knickers up, Jacqui, but it is my duty to teach you that when I forbid you to put yourself and others at risk by speeding - autobahn or not - I mean what I say. Your failure to comply means I shall have these down.” He said, as he roughly yanked down my tiny white lacies.
My face flushed and everything south of my waist contracted. Now, NOW I was really, frightened. I resolved to be fully compliant from here on in and to do my level to get this over with as swiftly as humanly possible. The first impact put paid to any such fanciful ideas.
As the first stroke impacted flush across both cheeks, my legs buckled as I simultaneously tried to use my cuffed wrists to shimmy up that darn tree trunk. As impossible as it sounds, I really did try to use those handcuffs to help me to climb the tree. Not that that would actually have helped me, as I would have had to come back down sooner or later. But sentient, logical thoughts are not so easy when one is experiencing blistering pain in one’s posterior!
“One… one… sir, thank you!” I eventually managed, shock setting in and almost no control over my thoughts at all.
He didn’t hang about and sent the second crashing straight into my right, and the third into my left cheek just as soon as I’d panted out the counting and obligatory thanks.
My head was spinning and I was already experiencing the crushingly embarrassing involuntary shakes. I had no control over what my body was doing and my mind was far from orderly. Through the haze I tried telling myself that I was almost half way there and that everything was going to be fine. Obviously, the fourth stroke taught me the error of my ways.
“F… F… Four, ssssssssir, th… th… th… thank… you,” I ground out, struggling to keep up. The pain in my backside was almost indescribable. It wasn’t red-hot, more white-hot and the sting particularly about the extremities of my backside was something else. Now, NOW I realised why this implement was reserved for the more serious matters, over and above even the cane.
The fifth was a low blow. I’m speaking literally here, as I have no place to opine figuratively. If you screw up, you get punished, and it’s not a punishment if you choose when and where the pain goes! Or so I was learning. The strike hit fully on my upper left thigh and I even let out a short, involuntary, pant such was the combination of pain and surprise. I’d never been tanned with an implement on my thighs before, save a few cuts of the cane in ‘the crease,’ that wretched place between buttocks and upper thighs.
The sixth was identical but on the right, and so I had a matching pair of painful welts which I was later informed covered me from upper to mid-thigh. I made a mental note to never wear a short skirt with tan tights to a disciplinary such as this, as there would have been no hiding those marks immediately post thrashing.
Finally, I had made it to half way and at this point, I’m not going to lie, I almost cried. Not because of the pain, although that was by now pretty serious, but because I was feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I’d been a brat, yes, I’d done some stupid things, but was this not a little over the top? Get a grip you pussy! I admonished myself. I have a rule and I’ve had it from the very beginning: if you can’t do the time then you don’t get to commit the crime. I will absolutely not allow myself to cry, because I was stupid enough to put myself in this position. Fair enough if tears fall directly out of my eyes on impact, that sometimes happens, and as far as I can tell it is impossible to prevent it. Also, fair enough should tears stream down my face because I am past the point at which I can tolerate the pain. But I’ll be damned if I allow myself to cry in self-pity. Crying out of self-pity is no more than a ruse to try to get the person dishing out the discipline to go easy on you, in my book, and I am many things but I will not tolerate being dishonest either with myself or my disciplinarian.
So, there were no tears on this occasion… though we did get close to maxing-out my pain threshold before he had finished.
I would love to share with you how those last six strokes went out there in the woods of Burchetts’ Green, but I’d be lying if I tried. I genuinely have no idea how I got through them, or what transpired. I am reliably informed that I did not swear, I did not kick, and I did not fail to count or thank. Apparently, I was beautifully behaved. What a pity I couldn’t be beautifully behaved before I landed myself in these kinds of predicaments. Anyhow, I’ll take plus points however they come. Essentially, there was nothing special to report, except for the twelfth lash. THAT one I do remember. Vividly.
“Good. I think we are getting somewhere,” he said as I stood, hands going numb from the tightness of the cuffs, breasts all scratched from the bark, and backside down to my mid thighs totally on fire.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, spent.
“What do we know about the last one?”
“It has to be the hardest one of all, sir,” I said, fully on auto-pilot.
“Very well, are you ready?”
“No, sir,” I exhaled, “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”
“Good. Brace.”
He sent the last one in savagely hard; it may have even taken me a full 20 seconds or so, to be able to count and thank him. I was almost grateful that I was restrained against a sturdy old tree as I am sure it prevented me from keeling over. The impact was such that I thought my head might explode from sensation-overload. It must have been several minutes before I realised that it was over.
As he took the keys to the cuffs to release me, I became aware that I must be almost fully recovered as I was suddenly worried about potential passers-by. The whole time I’d been stood there, basically butt naked and restrained to a tree, I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. Alas, now that the bad stuff was done, and I had regained enough composure to realise it was over, I all of a sudden was very eager to be released and to get dressed. It is worth noting that the cold hadn’t bothered me at all, not since the first stroke in any case!
“You may get dressed, your punishment is over, and when you are ready, I should like a hug.”
I flashed him a huge smile and hugged him right away, before I’d even pulled my pants up! He held me tight and asked me if I was alright, which I assured him I was. I’m always alright… once it’s over.
“Come along, you must be freezing! Get dressed, and let me take you to lunch at the Dew Drop Inn, they have a great roaring fire!”
“Yes please, sir,” I grinned back at him whilst also thinking: you have no idea. Freezing? Ha! I’m generating enough heat back here to heat a small village for an entire week!
I’m glad I managed to keep that comment to myself… on this occasion.
Jacqui James
Live-Lash-Love
That was from the “DATING” section of my website, more of which can be found here: https://jacquijames.substack.com/s/dating-and-discipline
[ALL materials ©Jacqui James 2021]
Fab story. Love the idea of no speed limit on the M6 toll.