PATRICIAS PUNISHMENT 

I suppose this could be seen as a cautionary tale about the dangers of drinking 
too much alcohol, but for me it's about the start of my life as it is today. Let 
me introduce myself. I'm Chris, and presently I'm a doctor - one of those 
overworked, overtired House Officers you read about from time to time. Actually, 
it's not too bad - better than being a medical student anyway. And life's good 
at the moment. I've just got engaged, to Patricia, who I've been seeing for the 
past three years. 
This tale is about us actually. Pat works in a firm of lawyers, but two years 
ago we were both students, and very poor students at that. We never really had 
enough money, but I was determined to treat Pat for the anniversary of our first 
year as a couple. So I scrimped and saved, did loads of extra jobs, and 
eventually had enough money to book Bed and Breakfast at a pub near Bath, 
recommended in "The Good Pub Guide". I also had enough to buy us both dinner, 
and drinks for the night. As you may imagine, I was somewhat pleased with 
myself. 
I kept the plans secret until the day, and the look on Patricia's face when I 
told her, was worth the money on its own. We packed hurriedly and drove down in 
the morning (I wasn't going to lectures on a day like this!), and spent the day 
in Bath window shopping, which was all we could afford to do. 
We arrived at the pub, The Black Swan, around teatime, and were shown to our 
room by the landlord's wife. It was fantastic! We couldn't believe our luck - 
there was a large double bed, an en-suite bathroom, tea and coffee making 
facilities and a television. I won't bother you with the details, but we spent 
the first half hour together in the shower! 
When we'd freshened up, Pat turned to me with a grin and said "As you've gone to 
all this trouble, it's about time I did something for you. Tell me what you want 
me to wear and I'll wear it for you." Now Pat has a gorgeous body. She has a 
34B-24-35 figure, which means nothing to me, but may be of some help to you. 
However, like most females she has no confidence in her body, and wears trousers 
far too often for my liking! So this was a real treat. I went over and looked in 
her case - she'd brought just about everything that had ever turned me on, but I 
knew exactly what I wanted. I picked out a blue flowery dress which went down to 
just above her knees, black suede high heels and a pair of sheer blue tights. 
Now I know most people find tights about as arousing as Nora Battys stockings, 
but if you've ever seen a girl wearing sheer tights with no underwear, the silky 
material covering her lovely bum cheeks..... well, you've no idea what it does 
for me! 
I gave the clothes to Pat who grinned and said "What knickers do you want?" 
"None." I replied. 
"What all night?" she asked, looking shocked. 
"Yes." She'd worn them like that in the privacy of her own bedroom, but never 
like this. Pat looked nervous. 
"But someone might see." she ventured. I reassured her they wouldn't and 
reminded her that a promise is a promise. She gave a shrug of resignation and 
began to dress. 
I should really describe Patricia to you, but remember, I'm biased because I 
love her. She's stunning - 5'6" with a great figure - slim but not too thin. She 
has glossy chestnut hair, thick and straight, down to the middle of her back. I 
wish I could describe her face, it's so beautiful. I'll try. It's softly 
angular, with large brown eyes so clear you feel you could swim in them. Her 
lips are red and full, and just say kiss me every time I see them. As for the 
rest of her body, Pat has nice breasts, medium sized, firm and uptilting. Her 
waist is thin and stomach flat and her legs are wonderful! - slender and 
muscular. She has a bum, which automatically means she hates it, but I love it. 
It's firm and (I say with hindsight) perfectly smackable. 
We had a fantastic meal that evening. The dining part of the pub was empty, so 
as well as eating and downing a bottle of wine, we flirted outrageously with 
each other. I couldn't keep my hands off her legs, reaching up as far as I could 
go. From time to time Pat would "accidentally" drop her fork and reach under the 
table to massage my bulging trousers, and as she got up to go to the toilet, she 
bent over, lifting her skirt and giving me a quick flash of her nether regions. 
We were both getting rather drunk. 
When we had finished eating, we moved to the main bar. It was quite empty. A 
group of around six middle aged men were playing dominoes at a table, and 
showing off to a person wielding a camcorder. They all had party hats on so I 
assumed it was someone's birthday. It was - the landlords. He swaggered out from 
behind the bar carrying a tray of drinks, with which they all toasted him. There 
were four other couples scattered around the bar. We were by far the youngest 
people there. 
We sat down at the bar and had a couple more drinks. Then I noticed the pool 
table in the corner of the room. It was certainly strange, hexagonal in shape, 
with pockets at each edge. We decided to go and have a game, basically out of 
curiosity. At the time I was glad we had. We spent a good half hour playing (and 
drinking), and every time Patricia had to lean over to make a shot, her skirt 
rode up her legs, almost, but not quite up to her bum. The birthday group had 
also noticed and were eyeing her appreciatively. I felt really proud that she 
was the centre of attention. 
However it was then that disaster struck. I suppose it was both of us showing 
off as the young couple, playing to the crowd. I was teaching Patricia a trick 
shot, but as she tried it out there was a loud tearing sound and a little squeal 
of horror as she leapt back from the table as if bitten. She'd torn the baize of 
the table! The pub was suddenly quiet and all attention turned to us. The 
Landlord jumped to his feet and rushed over, staring in disbelief at the damage 
done. Eventually he turned to me and said in a remarkably even voice "You'll be 
paying for that I assume." 
I gulped. "How much would it be?" I stammered. 
"Oh I should say about two hundred pounds all in all." he replied. 
Pat gasped. "But we don't have that sort of money." she blurted, "There must be 
some way we can work this out." 
"And how do you expect to do that? Are you going to work in the kitchens for the 
next six weeks?" His sarcasm had us stumped. In two minutes we'd gone from 
couple of the week to idiots of the year, but then another voice piped up. It 
was the man holding the camcorder. 
"I tell you what George, how would you like another birthday present?" This had 
us all confused, but he pressed on. "I've got the money." He turned to us. "You 
two have been totally irresponsible and your immaturity could cost George here a 
lot of money. Now it's his birthday and he deserves to have a good night. I'm 
going to make sure he does. George is into corporal punishment. Ever had 
corporal punishment?" We both shook our heads. "It would have done both of you a 
lot of good. That's by the by. Fortunately for you young lad we're not into 
beating boys, so here's the deal. I pay for the damage and George here gets to 
take it out on the backside of this delectable young lady. Your punishment is to 
watch her pain and humiliation. Meanwhile, I'll record the present on my 
camcorder for posterity." 
Pat gasped and looked at me in horror. I must have looked at her with pretty 
much the same expression. Aware that we were losing the initiative I asked "So 
what exactly will this entail?" 
"Well George here will take your girlfriend, bend her over the table, pull up 
her dress, pull down her knickers and spank her bare bottom until his hand gives 
up." He turned to the landlord. "What instruments do you have George?" 
"Oh the traditional lot - martinet, tawse and cane." came the reply. Patricia 
gasped in horror. 
"Well then," said the man, "after he's finished with the hand, he'll thrash her 
in various positions, with her in various states of undress for, well, shall we 
say the whole thing will last for no more than an hour? When he's done you can 
both be stripped naked and serve us drinks for the night." 
As he finished, the room, which had been totally silent, became filled with 
general murmurs of agreement. One old lady in the corner even clapped. However 
the room was once again stilled as the gentleman turned to us and said "Well 
it's either that or the courts." 
We didn't have that sort of money, and neither did our parents. I turned to 
Patricia. It wasn't my decision to make. She had gone as white as a sheet and 
her legs were trembling slightly. She was already nearly in tears. I'm sure she, 
like me, couldn't quite believe this was happening. Yet all credit to her, she 
stepped forward and in a quiet voice said "It doesn't look as though we have 
much choice does it?" The people in the room let out a collective breath. The 
atmosphere had been electric. 
I was motioned to stand in a corner, with a ringside view. George, the landlord 
had disappeared to fetch his implements, so the camcorder was passed to a 
friend, and the man who had organised this took Patricia by the arm and led her 
to the table. She didn't even have the dignity of settling herself. A push to 
the back bent her over the edge of the table, her dress riding up to mid thigh. 
The drop from the edge to the baize meant that Patricia's bottom jutted up into 
the air. Next her legs were spread until her feet were about half a metre apart. 
The dress moved even higher, up towards the edge of her bottom, her thighs 
encased in the sheer material of the tights. Patricia whimpered with shame, and 
I suddenly realised what made the situation worse for her - she wasn't wearing 
any knickers! The man ordered Patricia to put her arms out to the side, holding 
the edges of the table, and we all watched as my girlfriend bent, bum raised, 
legs spread, in the perfect position for the spanking she was about to receive. 
An audience had built up into a semi-circle around the table. People laughed and 
made lewd comments. I could see that Patricia, head facing as instructed to one 
side, had begun to cry silently. I felt angry, helpless, ashamed, and yet at the 
same time aroused! The power they had over her, over us. And she looked so sexy. 
There was no way I could stop it. I had an erection. 
The landlords return was greeted with loud applause. He sauntered over to 
Patricia, laid his instruments on the table, and with a curt "Keep still lassie" 
slowly, teasingly hoisted her dress over her bum. There was a gasp from those 
watching - no knickers! Tights! Patricia gave a sob. Oh my God, what a sight; 
those two fantastic cheeks encased in nylon, the drop of her thighs, and in 
between the spread legs, for everyone to see, Patricia's gaping vagina. How 
could I be aroused at a time like this? How could I not? 
Someone said "Bloody hell, look at that!" Patricia went bright red as every eye 
in the room focused on her exposed body. The landlord surveyed her, and then 
turned to us. 
"I don't normally hold with tights," he said "but these I like. We'll keep them 
up for the moment." There was generalised agreement. He looked at me and winked 
conspiratorially. Others too looked round and grinned. I blushed beetroot red 
and hoped that they couldn't see my erection. 
The landlord returned to Patricia and placed his hand between her thighs, over 
her vagina, his fingers slowly probing. She gave a whimper of embarrassment and 
wriggled slightly as he continued. 
"Keep still." he ordered and gave her a sharp spank to the right buttock. "Right 
lassie, brace yourself." With that he began to spank her, at first hard and fast 
all over, drawing gasps and the occasional yelp. Soon he reached his rhythm and 
alternated hard spanks left then right, then left. Patricia's breathing became 
ragged and her sobs louder. She kept her arms where they were - as she'd been 
ordered on pain of extra punishment, but her legs began kicking and she writhed 
uncontrollably. There were occasional yells of encouragement from the watchers 
and shouts of "Good shot!" when a particularly good smack landed. Patricia's 
bottom was quickly becoming crimson through the tights. Now she was yelling and 
crying continually, begging him to stop. She'd never been spanked before, and 
this was some baptism. 
This continued for a good ten minutes, by which time tears were streaming down 
Patricia's face. Then he moved to her thighs, spanking each one thoroughly until 
they too glowed crimson, drawing louder yelps and more vigorous writhing. 
Finally a few more to the bottom, and phase one was over. The landlord ordered 
Patricia to stay where she was, respread her legs, and settled back to enjoy his 
handiwork. 
I felt strange, as I had done throughout. This was my girlfriend, my love being 
beaten, being humiliated. Part of me, most of me even, hated it. I hated the 
fact that everyone was taking pleasure out of this, hated them for the pain and 
degradation being heaped on Patricia, hated them for exposing her body. But part 
of me wanted to do this to her, to have that power. Worst of all, part of me 
wanted this man to thrash her as hard as he could, to humiliate her further! 
Why? I loved her, and yet somewhere deep inside me, however guilty I felt about 
it, I was thrilled. 
The landlord examined her for about five minutes, fondling her legs, her bum 
cheeks and her vagina. This time, though still sobbing freely, Patricia was as 
still as a statue. She didn't want to make things even worse for herself. 
Eventually the landlord asked for a large, wide stool to be brought from behind 
the bar. It was placed on the floor and Patricia was ordered to stand up and 
face the audience. Her face was red and tear-streaked. She gave me a quick 
glance of misery and then looked down at the floor. She couldn't face our 
stares. 
"Right," said George "I want you to kneel on the stool." When Patricia had done 
this he ordered her to spread her legs until each knee was at the edge of the 
stool. Then she was ordered to bend forward with her elbows on the floor. In 
this position, with her back arched, the dress rode up to expose her vagina. It 
was quickly lifted to show the whole of her blushing bottom, raised to the sky, 
and George took the opportunity to have another fondle. Then he took the 
martinet, circled Patricia, raised the implement and.....CRACK! The individual 
thongs danced over her backside and she yelped with the pain. This was something 
new - stinging pain. Again the arm rose and them fell. The result was the same. 
Patricia jerked and cried out "Please, I don't think I can take any more of 
this!" 
"Of course you can young lady." came the reply, and another shot sizzled down 
onto the meat of her bottom. He continued with the strokes, hard wristy shots, 
greeted each time by a cry of agony. I doubt that Patricia cared any more that 
people could see her body. She must have taken thirty to fifty shots, the yells 
getting louder, the moans deeper and the writhings more pronounced. I could see 
strange snakelike patterns of red appearing across her cheeks, mingling with the 
lighter hues of her spanking. Her bottom was livid. 
Eventually however, this part of the punishment was also over and Patricia was 
ordered to stand. Thankfully she was now given a short break, and I was allowed 
to comfort her. We didn't talk, just held each other as she sobbed deeply. I 
prayed she would have the strength for the next stages. 
Then of course she was pulled away from me. I moved back to my original 
position, and Patricia was forced centre stage once more. 
"I think we'll have that dress off now." said the landlord, and this was greeted 
by a cheer from those watching. Patricia looked as though she wished she could 
die. She slowly unzipped her dress, then, looking away from us, she let it slip 
to the floor. Another cheer broke out. 
"Place your hands on the back of your head and look to the front girl." ordered 
George. Patricia complied, and the action jutted her breasts towards us. The 
landlord smoothed her hair back from over her face and then cupped one of her 
breasts with his hand. 
"These are fantastic" he said, and there was a murmur of agreement. They 
certainly were - large, but not large enough to be saggy; firm and uptilting. 
Her nipples stiffened with the cold. 
"Here she must like this" laughed George. Patricia gave a groan of pure misery. 
To all extents and purposes she was now fully naked, wearing only the thin 
tights and high heels. Her black pubes were clearly visible to the watching 
crowd. "Turn around." he ordered, and as she did so we all looked at the damage 
done. The backs of her thighs were still red and her backside was a mosaic of 
pattern. The high heels set her legs off magnificently. 
"Right young lady, I think twenty strokes of the tawse for you." said George. He 
pulled up a chair and instructed Patricia to kneel on it, bending down to touch 
the floor on the other side. She was slightly side on to us, so we could see her 
breasts dangling towards the ground. Of course, once again her legs were spread. 

There was no messing about now. The tawse was raised, then THWACK, it sizzled 
down onto Patricia's bum. She shrieked and jerked convulsively, and a hand came 
back forlornly to try and protect herself. 
"Put that back!" shouted George, "And I think you can count out each stroke and 
say thank you sir. Get it wrong and we start again. There was a pause and then 
Patricia's voice sobbed "One, thank you sir." She really took a thrashing then. 
It's impossible to describe properly. Each shot was followed by a scream, then a 
number, and finally by a "Thank you sir". Her voice became ever more desperate, 
her shrieks louder and she trembled continuously, whimpering between shots, 
apologising and pleading for mercy. I was just thankful she didn't lose count. 
After every stroke her breasts dangled helplessly and another bright line 
appeared on her bum or thighs. To think I'd thought they'd been red before! 
Finally came the cry of "Twenty, thank you sir." It was over but the sobs 
continued. There was still the cane to come. 
Patricia was left in that position, crying uncontrollably, for some time. 
Eventually she was pulled to her feet and ordered to resume her previous pose. 
Tears streamed down her face, falling over her breasts and down her abdomen to 
her tights. I looked at her dark bush, neatly trimmed, pushing against the 
material, each side separated by the lining of the tights. This was a sight that 
previously had aroused me only in the privacy of our bedroom. 
There were to be more poses now. Patricia was told to clamber up onto the pool 
table and sit facing us. She was then instructed to lean back and spread her 
legs as far as they could go. It didn't take me two seconds to recognise that 
this was a pose right out of a pornographic magazine. Patricia began to cry 
again. She was fully exposed, presenting herself to us. Well I thought she was 
fully exposed. The landlord returned with a pair of scissors and cut around the 
gusset of the tights. Patricia's vagina sprung free. He told her to place her 
hand down her tights and part her labia with her fingers. Now she was fully 
exposed and George took advantage to probe right inside her pussy with his 
fingers, playing with her clitoris. "She's all wet down here." he chuckled. 
Patricia groaned, the humiliation unbearable. 
Then he picked up his cane. He made Patricia lay back and pull her knees up to 
her chest, tightly together. He then pulled her shoes off, and that nearly did 
for me. Feet covered by stockings or tights is another of my little fetishes. 
Patricia had begun to whimper with fear again.. She was quite right to do so. 
The cane swished down in an arc and connected with the firm flesh of her 
backside, burying itself deep. Patricia shrieked in agony and a bright red line 
imprinted itself on her backside. Again the cane rose and fell. CRACK! this time 
into the crease between her bum and thighs. "Aaarghh!" Patricia's legs kicked 
out uncontrollably, just as the next stroke cracked into the middle of her 
thighs. 
"Get those legs back into position!" George yelled or I'll add extra strokes." 
Patricia obeyed, sobbing. Three more times the cane fell. Each time her hands 
moved to protect herself, each time she was ordered to remove them. Six angry 
lines were left. 
Then George told Patricia to spread her legs and grab her ankles. She looked up 
through her spread legs, over her gaping pussy, exposed for us all to see, and 
the cane arced down again and again and again, six more times in total. Each 
time she lost the position, kicking in agony, each time she had to retake it. I 
don't think she really knew where she was any more. All she knew was the sting 
of the cane. 
After those strokes I thought her ordeal was over, but she was pulled to the 
floor in a very undignified manner and told to put her shoes back on. George 
made her cross her legs and touch her toes, the traditional caning position. Her 
tights were finally lowered to her ankles and Patricia endures another six cuts, 
half to her legs, the rest to her naked rump. The dances she did after every 
stroke lewdly exposed herself, and were accompanied by catcalls from those 
watching. The thrashing was now over. 
Patricia pulled up her tights as told. What was going to happen now? I soon 
found out. Pints of beer were brought out and poured all over her, over her 
hair, breasts, bottom, and down her tights to her vagina. She was then stripped 
out of the wet tights, her shoes put back on, and then it was my turn. I was 
stripped fully, my erection now very obvious. Some of the women called out, the 
men laughed and the landlord said pointedly "He was as turned on as the rest of 
us." Patricia looked at me, shocked. I also had beer poured over me. 
The rest of the night we served pints and endured comments, gropings and 
slappings. As the evening drew to an end, the punters left and we cleared up 
silently under the watchful eye of the landlord. Before we went to bed he said 
quietly "Best birthday present I've ever had." We didn't say a word as we 
showered, climbed into bed and fell asleep in each others arms, both crying our 
hearts out. 
Now you may think, as I did, that that would be the end of our relationship. I 
was equally to blame, but she'd endured most of the punishment. I had got off 
lightly. And so it seemed as we drove back to university in silence. However, we 
endured. We didn't mention it for a while, except when she would say "The marks 
are fading now." and I would agree. 
However here's the funny thing. I'll never understand women fully. About a month 
later Patricia began talking to me about it, telling me what it was like, the 
pain and humiliation. We both became quite aroused - not so surprising in my 
case, I'd become somewhat obsessed by the whole business ever since, but in 
hers? I shot her a questioning look. She explained that while she could never 
endure the pain, the idea of being under someone's power, the humiliation of 
being exposed to all those people, and the appreciative comments she'd got, were 
now playing on her mind. We fucked like crazy that night. 
As I said at the start, this was the beginning of life as it is today. Spanking 
is very much part of our sexual foreplay, as are the fantasies we make up. We'll 
never graduate to the really painful stuff, but maybe one day the cane will be 
gently used. We eventually even wrote off to the pub, asking for a copy of the 
tape of the ordeal, and they sent us one. With it was a letter saying how much 
they'd enjoyed watching it and inviting us to stay for free. We've never taken 
them up on the offer, but often watch the video. Why it turns Patricia on I'll 
never know, but it does. And as our engagement proves, our relationship has 
never been stronger. 
THE END