Daisy Bell


Daisy Bell positioned for the caneWinthrop stood among the rolling green hills bordered on one side by the deep verdant forests of the Dale and on the other by the winding river Afon. Such was its reputation as a finishing school of the old-fashioned kind that few paid attention to its academic pretentions or its customs.

The school existed in a time of its own much as it had since its founding over a hundred years before and had any one of its patrons and students called in at any moment since then they would have discovered it unchanged in any regard.

Rich families and guardians just stumped up the hefty fees and used it as a dumping ground for their wilder young women in the hopes that one day they might be of some use socially. At least while they attended the school no questions were asked. So when Lady This or Countess That was caught out with the more suspect of cigarettes or found naked with a man, two women and a pink sheep in a popular hotel they could be spirited away with honour.

Daisy Bell was one such as these.

She was just beyond her 20th birthday with a dome of dark hair cut to a low fringe over polished hazel-brown eyes. She was a little shorter than most and little more curvaceously plump, which had occasioned her with the nickname Dumpling at former establishments. But at Winthrop she was largely ignored.

Daisy was happy enough to be away from her guardian and assorted distant relatives who each had their own agenda for her. Especially as after failing to attend a single class in the three months since her arrival, she had not had a single sanction or comment. This left her free to roam the grounds and read all the books in the library.

However, by the beginning of May she had become more than a little bored.

One day she was walking near the side way to the quad when she spotted Olivia Pennington. She was a slim tallish girl with pinned back red hair and big owl spectacles. Daisy knew the girl only slightly, knowing that she was one of the few girls that actually attended classes or did any studying at all.

Olivia was a little older than Daisy and the younger girl could only imagine what a young woman like Olivia could so earnestly study. Most of the women at Winthrop usually just went in for sport or more practical homely skills if they did anything at all.

Usually Daisy would have just given the girl a wide birth and made her way back to her room, but today she could not help but notice that Olivia was crying. As she paid attention Daisy could also see that Olivia was walking very carefully and with a rather awkward gait.

“Are you oaky?” Daisy asked. She didn’t feel particularly friendly towards the young woman, but it seemed the thing to do.

Olivia seemed startled and stopped to hug the books she carried more closely to her chest.

“Eh… yes, I’m fine,” Olivia offered tentatively.

“You’re crying,” Daisy said stating the obvious, “And what is wrong with your legs?”

“There is nothing wrong with my legs, I forgot to hand in my essay, that’s all,” Olivia sniffed, as if her words explained it all.

“Your essay?” the younger girl repeated, “What… what has that got to do with…?”

Olivia looked hastily around and then beckoned with her head for Daisy to come nearer.

“If you must know then come with me to my room,” Olivia whispered.

Daisy being bored and with nothing better to do, shrugged and fell into step alongside the slowly paced Olivia as she headed for her rooms.

The rooms at Winthrop were all well-appointed with their own bathrooms and separate bedroom from the study and reception areas. Olivia’s was no different, although it was unusually girlish and somewhat juvenile to Daisy’s mind.

As soon as they entered Olivia plopped the books she held on a nearby table by the door and turned her back. Reaching under her skirts she began to wriggle and in short order tugged her underwear down to around her knees and then flipped up the back of her skirt.

Daisy stepped back in surprise and was about to protest such a display from so scant an acquaintance when Olivia’s bare bottom heaved into view.

It was small and pert, boyish even, and would normally have been overly white and speckled with mottled freckles. But now Daisy could see that it was a starling red all over and crossing both rounds from the top of the cleft to where the under curves met the thighs were more than a dozen dark ridge-like welts; too many for daisy to easily count, certainly more than such a small bottom as Olivia’s could sustain.

“I told you,” Olivia said in irritation, “I forgot my essay and Mark Clark punished me.”

“But…” Daisy was horrified, fascinated and…

More emotions played through her mind now than there were welts on Olivia’s bottom.

“Don’t look like that,” Olivia sighed as she pulled up her pants. “I didn’t have to attend classes and I certainly didn’t have to agree to his terms for tutorials.”

“So why did you?” Daisy asked.

Olivia shrugged. “I thought I may as well get something tangible for my trouble and…”

She blushed, which was saying a lot for the fair redhead.

“Does it happen often?” Daisy was aghast.

“I am spanked over his knees most times, but sometimes I like to push it,” Olivia said ruefully.

“Like today,” Daisy ventured.

Olivia pursed her lips and nodded. “It makes things more interesting,” she told her new friend.

“Does it hurt?” Daisy tried to look past Olivia and through her clothes with a significant glance.

Olivia let her head flop to one side and returned a withering look that screamed ‘of course.’

“I bet I could give him hell and stay just the right side of the line,” Daisy mused aloud, “can anyone sign up for one of these courses?”


“I haven’t done it,” Daisy said bluntly.

Mark Clark frowned and folded his arms.

“May I ask why?” he said.

Daisy crinkled up her nose and shrugged.

“I couldn’t be bothered,” she replied.

Daisy was already showing her disdain by looking around at the rather masculine study and openly disapproving the Waterloo battle prints and a watercolour of the Battle of Trafalgar.

Clark appeared to consider this for a moment and then he said, “You want to leave my course and…?” he pulled a quizzical face.

“Not particularly,” Daisy shrugged, “I quite like your history lectures; they’re fun. I just didn’t feel like doing the essay was all.”

“Tell me, Miss Bell, suppose I felt like doing something and you didn’t,” Clark posed thoughtfully, “Which of our wishes would take precedence?”

Daisy shrugged. “Yours I suppose. Isn’t that how it usually works?”

“I am so glad we are clear about that,” Clark beamed. “Now do you remember what I said about…” he wafted his hand airily, “…discipline in my classes?”

Daisy nodded casually and affected a bored look.

Clark stood up and reached down to his desk drawer. It was the long one with walnut marbling in the wood. Opening it he took out a rather heavy battered looking leather pump and long thin cane. Then put both within reach on the desktop he took a seat in an armless chair across from where Daisy sat.

She was unresisting as she was hauled across his lap and only made a feeble protest as her navy blue pleated skirt was flipped up to expose her white knickers. However once Clark tugged the latter articles down to mid-thigh Daisy fluttered like a trapped bird and tried to reach back.

“I don’t suppose anyone ever spanked you before, but that is no deterrent to me,” Clark said taking up the pump.

He brought it down with a firm thwack that made Daisy gasp. She was just about to say that she had changed her mind about the essay when he spanked her again.

“Oh shit, this hurts,” she wailed.

She had had no idea what to expect when she challenged him, but all her furtive reading and fevered fumbling’s while alone had filled her thoughts for days. But the fantasies were nothing like this.

The leather pump rose and fell in a rapid spanking motion so that within a minute 30 or 40 heavy swats had landed and Daisy was bucking on Clark’s lap and struggling for breath. By then of course her bottom was an even red and had become a little swollen so that rubbery welts had formed along both sides of the tight split of her ample bottom.

Daisy made a gurgling sound as she tried to explain that she had enough now, but Clark had no intention of cooperating. Two minutes later Daisy reached the end of her tether.

“Look I’m sorry okay,” she said twisting in his lap and trying to claw herself out of his grasp. “You can… ugh… stop… now.”

There was real moisture in her words now and she was conscious of tears pooling at her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

“We are not half down yet Miss Bell,” Clark told her, “And once we are I want you take the cane I have for you like a good girl. If not you will go right back over my knee and we will start again. Do you understand?”

“Oh Sir, oh Sir… please Sir,” she begged.

But Clark was only just beginning and began to spank the girl all the harder. Acknowledging defeat Daisy began to wail incoherently as she broke to proper sobbing.


Corner time was a surprise. After what may have been a 15 minute spanking Clark set Daisy on her feet and made her face the wall with her hands on her head. The fire in her bottom was too fierce to give her any immediate concerns about her dignity or the fact that her behind was still naked, but after a good cry she began to feel embarrassed.

“Can I come out of the corner now please Sir?” she asked respectfully.

“No,” Clark snapped as he turned his attention to his papers, “Not unless you want another spanking and to do your corner time outside the door.”

Daisy gulped and gasped, “Oh no Sir.”

Daisy couldn’t be sure but it was at least half an hour before she was told to turn around. Then she saw the cane in Clark’s hands.

“I want you to bend over and grab your ankles,” he said bracing the stick between two hands.

Daisy blanched and grabbed at her bottom.

“Can’t we talk about this Sir?” she gulped.

“No,” Clark growled.

Daisy dropped into half with a start so that she was folded at the waits and grabbed her ankles for salvation. This pushed her shiny red bottom out and upwards to meet its fate.

“The only thing I love more than history is punishing naughty girls’ bottoms,” Clark said sharply. “So if you want to mess with one passion then you will compensate me by indulging me in the other. Are we understood?”

“Yes Sir,” Daisy said, blinking rapidly.

She had no experience of this but Olivia had told her to fix her eyes on a spot on the carpet and think of England. Daisy managed this right up to the first slice across her tail. Then England could go and get buggered.

“Hey-yah,” she yelped.

The first stroke bit hard and went on nibbling until Daisy began to look fondly on the spanking.

She was still wrestling with the first stroke when Clark let her have the next.

“Oh ffffff-fudge cake,” she groaned, “I mean oh fudge cake Sir.”

Neither Clark nor Daisy counted the strokes but by the time the liquid agony reached her thigh-tops they were in at least double figures and she was gently sobbing. Then Clark began at the top again for a slow journey south with feeling.


Daisy’s bottom flared with every step and she could no sooner have stopped crying than crawled to the moon. It would be at least a week before she could sit down and if the only thing running through her mind hadn’t been ‘ow my bottom’ then she might have wondered about standing positions for essay writing.

“You went through with it then,” Olivia said suddenly walking up alongside her with a grin.

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said breathily through her tears.

“How was it?”

“Baaaad,” Daisy replied. “It hurts… hurts… hurts…”

“Are you going to do your essay for next week?” Olivia chuckled.

Daisy took a deep breath and offered her friend a mischievous look.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said with a wink.

2 Responses to “Daisy Bell”

  1. 1 paul1510

    a teacher from hell, except for bad girls who won’t learn. 😉
    Perhaps an example for some of us. 😀

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: