Always On The Bare

As soon as she mentioned the name of the house, Thomas was transported back fifteen years to his school days, and he felt a shudder of fear run down his spine. As a schoolboy, Thomas and his friend, Dan, used to pass 'Wood End House' on their way to and from school. It was a large, detached and quite sinister looking, red brick Victorian house set in its own grounds behind a high brick wall. Entrance was via a huge, ornate, wrought iron gate. He and Dan always imagined that it was haunted.

On their way home one evening, they had been joined by Wendy, a girl that Thomas had a schoolboy crush on. Both Dan and Thomas were in a particularly boisterous mood, both trying to impress Wendy. Dan had dared Thomas to take a few apples from the tree just inside the wrought iron gate of 'Wood End House'.

"My brother said the house is haunted," warned Wendy.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," replied Thomas, trying to sound confident and knowledgeable. "How many apples do you want?"

"Six," replied Wendy. Her eyes widened with nervous admiration as Thomas pushed open the heavy, squeaking, wrought iron gate and began to climb the apple tree just a short way up the drive.

"You can have a dozen if you like," Thomas called out cheerfully from half way up the tree, relishing the opportunity to demonstrate his bravery, as his two friends watched him from the other side of the gate.

"I'll give you a dozen!" said a woman's voice from the direction of the house, "A dozen strokes with my cane across your bottom, young man."

In complete panic, Thomas dropped from the tree, apples scattering around him, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him through the gate and into the street. His friends were already scampering away up the road. He didn't look back, so he didn't see the lady, but he had heard her footsteps walking briskly towards him on the gravel drive. He pictured her with a cane in her hand.

Thomas changed his route to school after that incident, always fearing that a woman wielding a cane would be waiting behind the gate for him when he passed by. The image of her haunted him. Even now, fifteen years later, the image he had manufactured in his own head, made him nervous each time he had to pass near to 'Wood End House'.

Now, he was running his own small gardening business. The call he had just taken was from a lady called Ms Craven. She had a refined voice and explained that she had a large garden that needed regular maintenance, and that her regular gardener had recently retired for health reasons. She lived in the same town and Thomas agreed a time to call in to quote for the work. It was then that she gave him the address and the name of the house. Thomas realised his hand was shaking as he put down the receiver.

Later that afternoon, Thomas pushed open the same heavy wrought iron gate he had last ran out of all those years ago. It still squeaked. He became aware he was sweating as he walked passed the apple tree. It seemed smaller now. A minute later he pulled himself together and knocked on the oak front door of 'Wood End House'. Of course she won't recognise me after all this time, he thought to himself. It might not even be the same person, she might have moved.

The door was opened by a glamorous and attractive lady, smartly dressed in a conservative suit. Her dark hair was held back into a tight bun and beginning to grey. He guessed she was in her late forties. She looked at him for a few uncomfortable moments, before he found his voice.

"I'm Thomas," he said, clearing his throat, trying to disguise his nervousness, "I've come to quote for the gardening."

"Oh yes, of course," she said, studying his face carefully, her clear, hard, blue eyes boring into him.

There were a few uncomfortable seconds of silence and Thomas felt himself flushing.

"Perhaps you would care to take a look around the garden, Thomas," she said eventually, "As you will see, it's suffered a few weeks of neglect. I'd like a quote for tidying up, weeding, trimming hedges. If you'll excuse me I'm in the middle of something, so just knock when you've had a look."

She closed the door.

Thomas was nervous and excited by the mere presence of this refined lady. The thought that it might have been the same lady who had promised to cane him fifteen years ago was impossible to put out of his mind as he looked around the large garden. He realised he had an erection. Ten minutes later he knocked on the door again.

"I've had a look around, Miss Craven. It's a lot of work; I think it will take about a week to put it back in order,"

"I accept the quote, Thomas," she said as soon as he had given her a price, "When can you start?"

"I usually ask for a fifty per cent deposit," he said shyly.

"Well I don't usually pay a fifty percent deposit," she replied firmly, "I pay when the work is completed to my satisfaction. When can you start?"

Thomas found himself becoming erect and his face flushing again. He felt sure she had glanced down and noticed the bulge in his trousers. She looked back into his face with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Next Monday," he said meekly.

"Good. I'll expect you at 8am sharp." She raised her eyebrows slightly, indicating that she expected a reply in the affirmative.

"Yes, Miss Craven," he replied obediently.

* * *

Thomas was unable to put Miss Craven out of his mind for the rest of the week. He was almost desperate to know if she was the same lady who had threatened him with the cane. The thought excited him and scared him.

He began work on Miss Craven's garden at the agreed time the following Monday. She occasionally brought him out a cup of tea and inspected his progress, but other than that he saw little of her during the following week and she didn't seem interested in engaging him in conversation.

Towards the end of his last day, he was tidying away his tools, happy that the job was complete, and he found himself standing by the apple tree he had tried to steal apples from when he was a boy. He tried to imagine what it would have been like if he'd been caught. He found himself becoming erect again, and unconsciously put his hand to his erection.

"A penny for your thoughts, Thomas?"

Her voice made him jump and he quickly pulled his hand away from the front of his trousers, looking to his left to see Miss Craven standing to his side with a cup of tea.

"I was just admiring your apple tree," he replied awkwardly, not being able to think of what to say. She looked at him with a slightly amused look on her face and he felt his face flush again and his erection harden.

"Yes," she said at last, "Of course you were."

Thomas blushed further as he took the tea from Miss Craven.

"They're coxes - the apples." she said after a few moments, obviously in no hurry to return to her house. "The tree's past its prime now, but I enjoyed excellent crops until a few years ago."

"Oh," replied Thomas weakly, face now bright red.

"Yes," she continued, intent on reminiscing, "In fact the apples were so abundant that they attracted the attention of a few young scoundrels from the local school. Tried to steal some. I nearly caught one of them. I watched him climb up the tree from the kitchen window over there," she said.

Thomas looked over towards the window, trying, but failing, to appear casually interested, face still glowing red.

"He's very lucky I didn't catch him," she continued, smiling at the memory. "He may have found it difficult to sit down for a few days if I had."

Thomas could think of nothing to say, and after a few moments Miss Craven seemed to forget the past.

"Come up to the house when you've finished clearing up, Thomas. We can settle our accounts."

Ten minutes later, with his work complete, Thomas knocked on the door with his empty tea cup in his hand. He was sweating profusely, excited and nervous.

"Come in, Thomas," she said firmly, leading him to a large oak study, then sitting down behind a desk to face him.

"We need to settle your account," she said, looking directly into his face. He found himself looking down at the floor, unable to hold her gaze.

"But first," she continued, "I'd like you to help me with a bit of maths. It's not my best subject."

"Of course, if I can," he replied, "but it's not my best subject either."

"I'll make it very simple, then," she said. "Let's suppose I owed you, what shall we say...twelve apples, for example. Let's suppose it took me fifteen years to pay you back. You'd be owed interest, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he whispered, cringing inside.

"Well, as I said, maths isn't my best subject, but I've worked out that if the interest was, say, five per cent a year, then I'd owe you twenty-six apples. Does that sound right to you, Thomas?"

"I suppose so,” he whimpered.

"Good," she said, standing up and walking to a cupboard. "Let's swap apples for strokes of the cane, strokes of the cane across your bottom, Thomas."

She reached into the cupboard then stood to face him. She had a wicked glint in her eye and Thomas felt his legs go weak as he looked at the long cane she was flexing in her hands.
"I recognised you as soon as I saw you," she explained "So let's settle this long overdue account now, then we can settle the other more recent one for your gardening."

"You can't do that, Miss," he whimpered as his legs felt like jelly.

"Oh, but I can, Thomas, and I will. Step over to the desk, please. Face the desk, now, or I will add strokes."

Hesitantly, but obediently, Thomas complied. He felt the power of her domination over him and had no option but to obey.

"Take down your trousers and underpants, Thomas," she commanded firmly.

"Oh...surely not," he pleaded, "That's not right! You can't expect.."

"Always on the bare, Thomas. Always on the bare," she said patiently, "There's no other way. Now take them down at once or I will double the number of strokes."

Whimpering with fear and humiliation, Thomas slowly undid his trousers and allowed them to drop to the floor, then, with his face now glowing an even brighter red, he eased down his underpants.

"Now bend right over the desk," she said quietly, placing the long cane across his back to encourage him.

Hesitantly, Thomas leaned forward, excruciatingly aware of the sight his bare bottom would present to this elegant lady. With his all his weight on the desk, he had never felt more exposed in his life. The cool air on his bottom only adding to his feeling of exposure and humiliation.

"I do so like an unblemished, white bottom to cane," she purred as she looked down at his offered buttocks. "Tell me, Thomas, have you been caned before?"

"No Miss," he whispered.

"Excellent. This will be fun then. The cane hurts so very much more then you might imagine, Thomas. I do so love to observe the reaction of a first caning. Perhaps we'd better make sure you stay in place."

From somewhere, she produced a coil of rope, and before Thomas had grasped what was happening, she had secured his wrists to a heavy brass drawer handle on the far side of the heavy oak desk.

"Now, twenty-six strokes I think we agreed."

Thomas couldn't believe what was happening to him. He felt the cane tapping gently across the centre of his bared bottom cheeks, He had no idea what to expect, but he was dismayed that even these gentle taps stung unpleasantly. He screwed his face up in dread in anticipation of something considerably more painful


Nothing, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating agony as Miss Craven brought the cane down with amazing force to bite deeply into his virgin white flesh. His whole body tensed in shock and disbelief at the ferocity of the stroke and the intensity of the line of fire that erupted deep in the flesh of his bottom. As he hissed in a lungful of air, he clung to the thought that she must have made a mistake, she hadn't meant to cane him so savagely.


Stroke two confirmed it had been no mistake - it was even harder. Thomas shrieked in agony and began to struggle.


Agony overlaid agony. It was more than he could stand. The pain was at a level that was beyond his ability to comprehend. He was writhing and screaming now. His legs were weaving around in a frenzy, but his wrists were held firm as the cane continued to find its mark, again and again, biting ever deeper into the writhing buttocks. Miss Craven's face was a picture of determination and concentration as she wielded the cane with merciless venom.
At twelve strokes, Miss Craven paused for a break and took a seat behind Thomas to enjoy watching the weals mature across his squirming buttocks.

"I beg you, Miss, no more, please, I beg you, I can't take any more."

She smiled at his pathetic pleading.

"But we're not even half way through, Thomas," she said, cheerfully.

"I'll come back another time to take the rest. I promise, but I can't take any more now, please Miss."

She stood, then walked up to stand behind him, then gently traced a finger across the lattice of angry weals that covered his bottom.

"You do look rather sore," she said after a few moments, as her hand continued to caress his blazing bottom. "If I did agree to postpone the remainder I would need to be quite sure that you would return."

"You can keep my my money until I do," he replied at once, desperate to say anything to avoid any more strokes of the cane biting into his burning, throbbing bottom.
"Very well, I think I can agree to that," she said after some thought. She took her hand away from his bottom and picked up the cane again. "But I think I'll add four strokes for the inconvenience. Better get them out of the way now."


Before Thomas realised what was happening, the agony erupted with increased intensity across his bottom and the room filled with screams. Miss Craven sat down with a sparkle in her eye, flushed with excitement and a smile on her face, as she waited for the screaming and writhing to subside.

She eventually released him and he rose unsteadily to his feet. He was erect.

"I expect you back within two weeks," she said, "And if you take your caning well I may do something about this." She gave his erection a gentle tap with the end of her cane.

* * *

With a shaking hand, he picked up the phone and punched in the number. Sweat stood out on his forehead as he listened to the phone at the other end ring. He whimpered as his call was answered.

"Hello, Miss Craven. It's Thomas. I'd like to come back to receive the remainder."

"But it's been only three days, Thomas. You must still be very sore."

"I am, but I still want to come."

"You do realise that it will be very, very, painful," she said sincerely, leaving him in no doubt that she meant it, "I intend to cane you very hard, Thomas, very hard."

There was a long, long pause, before Thomas answered in a whisper, "That's what I need, Miss."

There was another long pause before she answered quietly, "Then I shall make sure it is, Thomas. Come here at once. I want you here in ten minutes and I will add an extra stroke for each minute you are late."

"Is that a promise?" he found himself saying.

"That's a promise," she whispered. The line went dead.

Thomas took off his watch and put it down on the table in front of him. He spent fifteen minutes watching the the minute hand as it slowly traced an arc around the watch face, then he strapped it back on his wrist and rose from his chair. He decided to walk to 'Wood End House'. It would take longer than driving, but he was he knew she wouldn't mind him being late.

As he set off on foot at a leisurely pace, Miss Craven looked at the wall clock in her study . She ran her tongue over her lip, then picked up the cane she had just placed on the old oak desk. It was the cane she had used on him three days before. She put it back in the cupboard then removed another cane. This one was longer, darker, and because it was made of a denser wood, much heavier. She swished it through the air a few times, then placed it on the oak desk, next to the rope - two coils this time, as she didn't want his legs thrashing around so much.

Ten minutes later, she looked at the clock again and smiled.

"Oh, Thomas... Thomas.... You really have no idea what you are in for," she said quietly to herself, as she settled back in her chair to watch the minute hand of the clock steadily add to the number of strokes she would soon apply to his bare bottom.


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Back to the Stories Page

The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair

Alice And Anna
On The Beach
The Bisley Boy
Silk Stockings On A Ladder
A Merry Ferry Christmas
Stella and Fanny

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

The Dominafuhrer

The New Recruit

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine


An Introduction

VO Stories

Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict/My Prison Folder


A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1


The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood