The Lanark Island Herald: The Legacy


Our story continues.

A few days after her spanking, Mary saw Mrs Granger and Mrs Bonham talking outside the shop. It had been bad enough that Mary was sure Mrs Bonham had noticed the way Mary sat, or rather had desperately avoided sitting over the last few days. However, seeing them together, she was overcome with an overwhelming and very uncomfortable feeling that they were talking about her; and more particularly about her recent spanking. So much so that she backed up and went the long way round to work so that she didn’t have to confront them.

Apart from sitting carefully at mealtimes for a few days more, the spanking soon receded into the background for everyone but Mary herself.

Then two weeks later she dropped into the shop on her way to work only to discover Kate had been in trouble again.

“Pay no mind,” Clara Pope said of her daughter tossing her head in the direction of the bare-bottomed Kate in the corner.

“No… I won’t, but… I do need some… eh…” Mary looked about her and spied the stationary placed so conveniently in a good line of sight of the hapless Kate, “writing paper and… eh… notebooks, that’s it.”

“You take your time.” Clara smiled and returned to her back room.

Mary picked up packets of Basildon Bond and ring-bound notebooks and pretending to examine them. All the while she cast her eye over Kate’s prominent and very nude bottom as she stood on public display. It was a dark dusky red with several doughnut welts, but for all that, healthy and well defined. Mary tried to remember how Kelly and the twins had looked after a spanking and how her own bottom had been; she blushed. She knew Kate was aware she was watching and the punished girl shuffled nervously from leg to leg, swaying a little.

Mary couldn’t imagine being so humiliatingly displayed like that and she squeezed her thighs together. It was a wonder that every boy on the island wasn’t in buying fishing tackle or the like. She wondered how long Kate would have to stand there. How long? What was the time? Shit, I’m late, Mary realised with a start and sped out the door.

By the time Mary got to the office she was out of breath, but nevertheless tried to walk nonchalantly to her desk, forcing her breathing into an even pattern.

Mrs Bonham didn’t look up and continued typing her editorial, so Mary slipped into her seat and sighed in relief. Looking up at the clock, she saw she was almost 15 minutes late. No harm done, she guessed.

“Did you uncover a scoop?” Mrs Bonham still didn’t look up from her screen.

“Scoop?” Mary was confused.

“You were late.”

“Yes sorry, I… I… eh, had to call at the store. I…”

“The store? There is nothing you need there that is urgent. You will do your shopping on your own time.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Mary could have kicked herself.

“Tell me as a matter of interest, were you delayed or did you just lose track of time?”

Mary remembered what Mrs Bonham had said on her first day. It didn’t matter what the reason, a journalist was never late.

“I’m sorry, I just forgot the time,” Mary confessed.

“You will make up the time after work and then you will come see me upstairs after office hours.” Mrs Bonham looked up and fixed Mary with a hard stare.

“Eh… yes, sure.” Mary hated herself for blushing.


It was a long uneventful day and all the while Mrs Bonham’s words, ‘failure to keep to the rules had consequences,’ rattled around in her head. Mary couldn’t help wondering in what sense she had meant that, figuratively, philosophically or… literally? From Mrs Bonham’s attitude, it wasn’t going to be anything too dire, she guessed, but… well Mary had a hunch that she was going to get a dressing down. Damn. Damn and blast it, whatever way she cut it, she had screwed up. Mary could only hope that it wouldn’t go on her assessment.

In the end Mary hoped to avoid a confrontation with Mrs Bonham by out waiting her. If she stayed at her desk working late to make up her time, Mrs Bonham might just go home without seeing her. However, after 30 minutes past the usual leaving time Lisa came down the stairs and as she made to go home she told Mary Mrs Bonham was waiting to see her and she should go up.

“Thanks Lisa and goodnight.” Mary kept her manner even and Lisa showed no sign that it was any way a big deal, so maybe it wasn’t, she thought.

She logged off and perhaps to stall, she watched as the Windows screen switched to Dos and then closed down. She even waited for the gentle whir of the PC hard drive to stop until the silence sang painfully in her ears.

“Mary come up now please,” Mrs Bonham called down.

“Sure thing Mrs Bonham, I’m just coming.” Why was she so nervous about a little dressing down for being a few minutes late? This was no big deal, she told herself. But her palms were damp and she felt like she was off to the executioner. Her footsteps on the wooden stairs clanked uncomfortably like a knell. She felt silly at the comparison and forced a hollow laugh.

“Come in,” Mrs Bonham said when she reached the door. “Has Lisa gone?”

“Yes, she…”

“Good. Sit down please.” Mrs Bonham’s efficient manner did not detract from her celebrity good looks and for a moment Mary saw the Rachel Lockhart that most of the world saw. Or used to before her seclusion on Lanark.

Mary looked at the chair as if would bite and then sat, offering Mrs Bonham a half-smile as she did so. Not since her first day had she been invited into the private office for a chat. Mrs Bonham always gave her instructions in the main office downstairs. That was where she usually worked unless she was dealing with business matters or wanted to talk to the publishers in New York.

“You know that the Lanark Island Herald has a rich and unusual history. You also know that it is a privilege to be allowed an internship here?”

“Yes I…”

“Please Miss Rossington, let me finish,” Mrs Bonham interrupted. The formal use of ‘Miss Rossington’ made Mary’s heart sink. Was she to be fired? She was only 15 minutes late for God’s sake.

“At the Herald we set impossibly high standards,” Mrs Bonham continued, “as much to make a point as anything. You placement here is not just work experience; God knows you could have got more experience on just about any newspaper in America. Nor is it simply a training regime. You must have sensed that.”

Mary didn’t know if she should speak, so she said nothing.

“Of course you did. I know you have been immensely curious about certain things since you came and fully realise that there is more to the Herald than meets the eye.” Mrs Bonham leaned forward and fixed Mary with a stare. “I know you have been sniffing around our little room ever since you arrived.”

Mary blushed.

“As I told you, I was let in on its secrets from an early stage; that was my predecessor’s way. Well she lived in different times when young women were perhaps more unquestioning. I choose my interns carefully and lead them in more slowly. I am happy to say that so far I have not had a single girl run out on me.”

Mary blanched. “Please Mrs Bonham… are you sacking me?”

“Good heavens, no girl.” Mrs Bonham clasped her throat and laughed. “However, you were warned that any breach of the rules would have serious consequences, were you not?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Mary was puzzled, but somewhat relieved.

“Are you prepared to accept those consequences I wonder?”

“Of course Mrs Bonham, I…”

“Do not be so hasty,” Mrs Bonham held up her hand. “The philosophy started under Amelia Law, is still our guiding light. Focussed disciplined young ladies trained and prepared to hold their own in a man’s world. If you accept the consequences then you will stand on the threshold of our little family. Call it an initiation if you will.”

Mary felt the hairs on her neck stand up, she sensed that the Holy Grail was within her grasp. “Is this some kind of sorority, but for grown-ups, for journalists I mean?”

“That is a very apt way of looking at it.”

Mary nodded, excited now.

“So tell me Miss Rossington, Mary, will you accept the consequences of failing our high standards? Will you accept your punishment?”

At the word punishment Mary experienced a strange sensation. She both half-understood and yet could not quite finish the thought to its conclusion, like something just hanging at the corner of one’s eye. Even so, she was nodding in lieu of speech.

“I should tell you Mary that I am going to spank you.” Mrs Bonham’s eyes sparkled as she waited for a reaction.

“You mean…?” Mary pointed limply at the display cabinet that contained the founder’s sorority paddle.

“Not with that,” Mrs Bonham said taking something from the desk draw and standing up. “I intend to spank you on the bare bottom as you have never been spanked before.”

Mary saw that Mrs Bonham held a small black paddle and she blushed to her hairline so even the space behind her ears was suddenly hot. Her editor moved a straight-backed chair away from the wall and sat in it. Then she patted her lap and waited.

Mary got uncertainly to her feet and took a hesitant step forward.

“This paddle is of a special construction. It comes from Oregon and is designed to impart a biting sting to a young woman’s bottom whilst at the same time being slow to bruise. I assure you a very long sustained spanking can be imparted with it and the recipient, which today is you, is really quite, quite challenged by its application.”

Mary was embarrassed, afraid and excited all at once. Not that she was given any more time to consider, as she was tipped over Mrs Bonham’s lap. Once in place, blushingly vulnerable and face-down over the older woman’s lap, she felt the zip of her skirt being tugged down so that it could be peeled away from the side. Without thinking, Mary even lifted herself a little so that the skirt could be drawn down her legs. An act that made her look around; it was strange to see her bare legs stretched out like that. Then she started to watch as the panties followed, tugging at the high point of her bottom and down to her ankles. Another rush of blood to her head made her look away and she found a spot on the carpet to distract her from what was about to happen.

Then nothing happened. The only sound was Mary’s breathing and the distant sound of the sea beyond the town. The wind is getting up, Mary thought, as if it mattered.

Mrs Bonham studied Mary’s round pert bottom with its tight divide and deep shadowed fold that only very prominent bottoms had. She was one who knew, given all the bare bottoms she had spanked over the years.

For Mary the tension was an ordeal. She almost wondered if something had gone wrong. Still she did not dare look around again in case she saw Mrs Bonham’s eyes. That would have been too embarrassing; too intimate.

Mrs Bonham laid the cool paddle on the tight huddled flesh of Mary’s bottom and let her intern feel its weight. Mary gasped at its touch and fluttered a little, fearing the spanking may begin.

Still Mrs Bonham waited until another age had passed. The start of an intern’s very first spanking was a moment to savour

“You need this don’t you?” Mrs Bonham whispered.

Mary squirmed a little, realising that she was somewhat damp between her legs. There was no way to answer that.

The first spank came suddenly, taking both of them by surprise.

For Mrs Bonham there was the satisfying splat and the trembling white flesh in that moment before it pinkened.

For Mary there was a sting like no other. Not worse than a previous spanking, but not so very far off. But it certainly had a tang like no other before. What was that paddle made of? She thought.

Mary’s bottom had a bright pink even patch that held a thousand tiny goose pimples. Mrs Bonham waited until this affect was at its height and then she spanked again, enlarging the mark but largely overlapping it. This time Mary cringed a little and a small groan escaped her throat.

The sting was redoubled and for a moment Mary had a sense of one tangy mark fading while another grew. But it was fleeting and within a heartbeat the searing patch was one. Then even as she felt this, the third spank joined the party and Mary could no longer keep still.

As the spanking proceeded, so did the pain. Each spank bringing a new level of sting that built up in steps until Mary struggled to handle it. Then the burning began. An incredible sensation she had experienced before, but never so intensely. It seemed to build quite separately from the sting and on a whole differently level under the first pain.

After that Mary couldn’t help yelling and kicking at each spank.

Mrs Bonham spanked on, letting Mary roll her bottom a little in her struggles so that in a short time not an inch of skin from a half-inch below the top of her cleft to just on the fold where bottom met thigh was left white. Then seeing the uniform dark pink all over she set about deepening it and drawing it out to full red.

“Yah,” Mary gasped, “Mrs Bonham please, it’s… no, yah…” There was much more in this vein and even tears.

Mrs Bonham also noticed that Mary was becoming quite wet. Not an unusual response, but of course a pleasure that needed to be compensated for, lest the object be defeated.

As with most girls, it took 15 minutes of spanking until Mary was defeated and another five or 10 minutes before she had been truly and deeply spanked.

Sometimes girls started getting angry or tried to negotiate shortly before the final defeat. Mary at least, knew this would have been futile, a sure sign that she had been spanked many times before. It made no difference. Mrs Bonham spanked until the bottom had taken all it could.

Mary didn’t start to fully cry until the spanking was done. Again not so unusual, Mrs Bonham thought. She wanted to hug the girl, but it wasn’t the time.

“Go to the corner now please,” Mrs Bonham said, once Mary began to calm down. Mary didn’t argue.


Mrs Bonham pretended to work as she watched Mary standing in the corner of her office. She pondered on just how many girls must have been in the same place in the last century or more; over a hundred surely.

Usually with spoilt city girls doing their first corner time they started to fidget after 15 or 20 minutes. Then Mrs Bonham would add 10 or 15 minutes before calling the girl out. But even after 20 minutes Mary had not made a fuss. Also Mrs Bonham noticed Mary’s bottom held a deep satisfying red without a trace of a true bruise. That was partly due to the paddle, but still it was impressive.

After 45 minutes Mrs Bonham finally asked Mary to turn round.

The girl clasped her hands in front of her and looked down at the carpet.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

“No Ma’am. I mean… sorry Ma’am.”

“Good.” Mrs Bonham smiled. “Look at me.”

Mary’s eyes lifted reluctantly, the red of her blushing face was as fulsome as that on her bottom.

“I have a good mind to send you home as you are so that Mrs Granger knows you have been punished. But I guess she’ll know anyway. Maybe she’ll spank you again. Be sure to thank her if she does and no arguments.”

Mary started to protest, but then looked at the floor again. “No Ma’am. I mean yes.”

“Tell me, do you want to see our special room?”

Mary looked up and offered a shy smile.

“Very well. Don’t get dressed. You can come as you are. It is actually quite appropriate as you will see.

Mary hovered for a moment, dancing from foot to foot and then she looked forlornly at her skirt lying on the desk. Mrs Bonham didn’t wait and walked purposefully across the hall and unlocked the door to the other upstairs room.

Mary felt silly, hobbled as she was by her panties and let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them. For a moment she wanted to run and hide, but the sound of the key in the lock got her attention. So with one hand clutching at her front and the other flapping behind as if trying to decide whether to rub or hide her bottom, she followed Mrs Bonham.

The room was a little larger than the office, as she had guessed. There was no carpet and Mary was disappointed to see that room was actually rather Spartan. Then she saw two strange pieces of furniture just out of sight until she actually entered the room.

One looked rather like an inverted dentist chair with leather padding, only it had no arms and there were heavy straps hanging from various points. The other looked like an adjustable vaulting horse. There were also a few straight-backed chairs and an ottoman-style scrolled-back couch around the walls.

“This was made to order on the mainland back in 1947,” Mrs Bonham said indicating the dentist-like chair. “As you might guess, the patient usually lies face down, so to speak.”

Mary frowned, not daring to speculate why that might be, but given her recent experience was quickly beginning to suspect.

“The other is far older. Amelia Law herself had brought from the mainland. Some say she had it made, others that she acquired it from an old prison.”

Mary blanched and took a half step back. She was beginning to feel more than a little vulnerable, naked as she was still, from the waist down anyway.

“These,” Mrs Bonham indicated something on the wall behind them, “are the tools of this particular trade.”

Mary turned and saw a ‘tool-rack’ containing canes, paddles, straps and even various types of whip. Then she quailed.

“The draws beneath contain various smaller items,” Mrs Bonham proudly explained. “It was this that almost had me running home to mother when I first came.”

I don’t doubt it, Mary thought, swallowing nervously.

“Don’t worry, I’m finished with you tonight,” Mrs Bonham chuckled seeing Mary’s face. “This is what I really wanted to show you.”

The editor indicated the photographs all along the back wall and Mary glanced at them, her main attention still held by the implements of punishment. The pictures looked at first glance like the ones downstairs of interns past. Then she saw. Almost all of the women were in states of undress. Primarily with their bare bottoms turned to the camera. Some amused or even happy, but most shy or downright sullen, Mary thought. Some had even been recently punished, with startling red bottoms or other marks well-displayed and had tears in their eyes.

The remarkable thing was that like the pictures downstairs, they seemed to go back as far as the 19th century, with brown-stained posed for black and whites, through glossy portraits of the 1940s and 50s and colour pictures of the 1960s, 70s and… they were the same girls, the interns, Mary realised.

“There’s me.” Mrs Bonham sounded almost as if she were proud. The picture was of a startlingly young Rachel Lockhart peering sullenly over her shoulder back at the camera with a very bare red bottom in all its glory. “You can imagine what some of the tabloids would do with these given some of the people there. There is even a senator or two.”

“Oh my God.” Mary had forgotten her own nudity and had begun examining each picture in turn. She quickly matched some of the pictures up with the celebrities she had seen downstairs. “Who… I mean how… I mean to say, why?”

“Who is to say how traditions get started. The reason behind it was discipline and loyalty to the Lanark Island Herald. Generations of highly motivated ‘old girls,’ who never forget where they are from and what they owe.”

Mary nodded. It made sense. Like an old style sorority, it either made you or broke you. She didn’t see Rachel Bonham-Smyth watching her carefully. This was the point where Mary would flee in terror, calculate how she might exploit this knowledge or embrace the Lanark Legacy of Amelia Law.

“Was that my initiation, I mean am I…?” Mary left the question hanging.

Rachel smiled, she could tell from Mary’s face she wanted in. “Let’s say you have successfully pledged with a guarantee of acceptance as long as you… accept what is to come.”

Mary gulped and eyed the strange furniture and the rack nervously.

“They needn’t necessarily be your future,” Mrs Bonham chuckled. “However, you might be surprised who has been back here for a refresher course after an indiscretion or two, very surprised.”

Mary turned back to the pictures. She wanted to know more.

“In my safe is a kind of punishment book and some diaries. Before the year is out and certainly before you leave here next summer, I want you to know all of these… eh faces and their histories. Who knows one day you may have my job or be called upon to judge another member, so to speak.”

Mary nodded, lost in wonder and something stirred within her.

As Mary was getting dressed, the soreness in her behind reasserted itself and she winced. “Mrs Bonham Ma’am,” she said ruefully rubbing her bottom, “thanks, for everything I mean.”

Mrs Bonham smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.


The walk back was slow, hampered as it was by the combined aching-burn in her bottom. The ache was deep in both buttocks, but overlaid by an all pervasive soreness that topped the aftermath of any previous spanking.

At the rise in sight of the house, Mary clutched again at her bottom and winced. The sun was already low in the sky, casting its red glow over the burning sand. As red and burning as my backside, Mary thought ruefully.

When Mary arrived at home, supper was almost ready. She half expected to be scolded for coming home so late, but all Mrs Granger said when she arrived was: “tough day?”

There was something knowing about the way Mrs Granger looked at Mary and she blushed. “Do I have time to change?”

Mrs Granger nodded and Mary walked as normally as she could to the stairs leading to her room. Once there she eased down her skirt, which by now was way too tight and braved a look at her bottom. Peering over her shoulder she slipped her panties down to take a look. She gasped at the sight. Not only was her bottom still slightly swollen, but it was an astonishing even red all over with not a mark extending beyond the perfect tight spheres of her buttocks. She whistled in admiration at Mrs Bonham’s expertise. For a moment Mary turned this way and that in an orgy of narcissism trying to see her punished hind end from all angles and then vaguely ashamed and suddenly aware she was a little aroused, she pulled on her loosest skirt. Even so, her panties were a little chafing when she pulled them up, so in act of bravado she slipped them down and went to supper sans culottes.

Even the ever-observant Kelly did not notice Mary’s painful descent into her chair, although Mrs Granger did, confirmation, if any were needed that she had guessed why Mary was late.

Again Mary blushed and fixed her gaze firmly on her plate.

Later in her bed, Mary relived her spanking and went over in her mind everything she had learnt. As her hand stole between her legs she fancied that instead of Mrs Bonham’s knee, it was the ‘dentist chair’ or the other contraption that held her.

To be continued.

6 Responses to “The Lanark Island Herald: The Legacy”

  1. 1 fatherjim

    What comment could one add? It would be like the poor lass, Mary, writing about her own punishment in the next Day’s paper. There just aren’t the words to explain such an experience! Wonderfully done, and wonderfully compelling. Great stuff! (All these words, too meager!)



  2. 2 Emilio

    Expertise in discipline and good tools: young adult women need it so badly.

  3. 3 annelies

    Becoming better and better with every episode!
    Thank You so much,
    best regards,

  4. 4 paul1510

    DJ, excellent episode.
    I might not have agreed with this policy sixty odd years ago, but I do now, and not just for girls. 😀

  5. Oh, my. A secret spanking room above a newspaper office seems so enticing. I like the promise of “focused discipline.” Nice story, DJ.

  6. 6 MsMcdonald

    I heartily encourage you, DJB, to reopen this series and take it to its jsut end. This is the best writing you have done, so free of artifice, so fluid, that I am sure it is your favorite work as well.

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