Skirt Lifted Vol. 2

Skirt Lifted Vol. 2

By Rodney C. Johnson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © January 2013
Roadrunner
Books
and
Rodney C. Johnson
. A Division Of
ThunderHawk Enterprises
.

http://raptorsclaw.wordpress.com/

Chapter 1. Back
With The 'Rents

Chapter 2. Billy
Goats Gruff

Chapter 3. Three
Little Birds

Chapter 4. Pink
Nightie

Chapter 5. Wet
Slipper

About The
Author

Also
by...

[Kaela Rogers, Age: 22]

With a sigh, Kaela glanced once more at the
text that she had gotten only a few hours ago while at the office.
A knot in her tummy, shortly accompanied by butterflies, Kaela
entered the London flat that she resided in with her parents. The
text, to the point, presented in her mum's typical forthright way:
Friday after work activity, cancel, get home. No clubbing, or
going out with coworkers
. Kaela didn't need to ask why her mum
had ordered her to stay in; she sort of had expected it. Getting
the text however put a gloom on Kaela's mostly enjoyable work
day.

On her way through the flat's parlor toward
her bedroom, Kaela wasn't a bit stunned when she discovered that
the antique chair had been moved out into the room's center, ever
bothersome in front of the flat's wide windows, a lone 'antique'
among the otherwise ultra-modern furnishings. Kaela cheerlessly
remembered the day she and her mum had gone to choose it. Mum had
instructed her to wear jeans that afternoon for their visit to the
shop, so as to protect Kaela's budding womanly virtues. Before mum
purchased the accoutrement, meant for one purpose, she had wanted
to be sure that the chair 'fit' her daughter's measurements. Kaela,
all nerves, and flushed had done as mum instructed. Bent over,
gripped the lower crossbar, bum up. Over the slight, bowed back,
Kaela found herself lifted on tip-toes. Mum had approved, and
handed Mr. Martin his money.

At the memory, Kaela reddened. Mr. Martin, a
family friend had known exactly what her mum wanted the chair for.
Once again, the heavy accessory would be used for the purpose which
it had so often been employed to during her teenage years. Kaela
thought at nineteen she had been done getting her ass caned, moving
back in with her parents though at twenty-two, for financial, as
well as numerous personal reasons proved that notion to be
exceedingly wrong. Mum's thin, yellow cane waited, hooked on the
chair, ready for Kaela's bare buttocks to slice to pieces. Poor
her, such a short reprieve from not being obligated to raise her
ass to incur a proper thrashing.

Up in her room, Kaela slipped off her
expensive Italian shoes, unzipped the narrow sheath of her pencil
skirt, all while she admired her reflection in the rooms floor
length mirror. Not how she wanted to spend a Friday night, that's
for sure, getting prepared to be caned. Honey-colored hair fell
below her shoulders, framed a heart shaped face, where two big
green eyes gleamed. An upturned nose, her face's cutest feature,
painted her a girl, no a woman rather, who came across as quite
self-assured, all haughty poise, with a princess attitude. Beneath
her left eye, a beauty mark made Kaela's spectacular face even more
appealing. The rest of her body wasn't bad either, and she knew it.
Every male at Regency, the PR firm where she worked leered in her
direction, and ached for a good grope.

Kaela unbuttoned her shirt, buoyant, D-Cup
tits jutted out of a Caressa Roza, cream color floral bra. Over to
her bed she went, sat and began to roll chocolate hued stockings
off shapely suntanned legs. Free of the hosiery, she got up and
headed toward the bathroom, unlatched her bra as she went, let it
drop on the tile floor. In the loo, she stepped out of her bra's
matched knickers. Finally bare, Kaela's trimmed carpet, which as it
were matched the drapes, a well groomed triangle tantalizingly
arrowed en route to her pussy, which tingled in nervous expectation
of her punishment. Kaela flipped on the shower. Mum always wanted
her to bathe before she got whipped. Anyway, the cane went much
better on a moistened, warmed flesh.

Still hurt like fuck!

Clipping her hair up, Kaela stepped into the
rush of water. For the moment, she closed her eyes, enjoyed the
heat that streamed over her fit body. Pouring wild cherry blossom
bodywash all over her boobs, her nipples hardened at her touch,
Kaela massaged herself, caressed each curve – almost forgot
herself, and the troubles which awaited downstairs in the parlor.
It wasn't long before Kaela heard her mum get in. Even though she
dreaded finishing her bathing, at last Kaela relented to the
inevitability of her punishment and turned off the water.

Imagine it? An up and coming, twenty-two
year-old publicist, who frolicked among the jet set from all across
Europe, with celebrities, royalty (Kaela even had the privilege to
meet the Duchess of Cambridge) who continued to get her pert, sexy
little arse caned. And in this instance she thought, for a truly
anserine reason.

Any of a number of things might get Kaela
caned. Out beyond curfew, drinking too much, a job replete with
many perks often let that particular indulgence become a hazard for
her derriere. Typically neglected chores were an issue. Excesses of
her high class lifestyle, which her occupation almost demanded, as
well as a tendency to behave like a princess earned Kaela a trip
over the chair. This time though the reason had been bloody stupid!
And all her fault too. Kaela should have known better than to
borrow mum's jewelry without permission. The ankle bracelet, which
she'd taken to wear with a posh little black dress, the clasp of it
had broken off during a work event. Mum had been none too pleased
to learn that the fourteen karat chain had been misplaced, even
angrier that Kaela had gone into her belongings without first
asking.

Needless to say, her impending chastisement
hung over Kaela's head for the whole work week. Canings were
typically done on Friday's to give her the weekend for recovery.
Though, more often than not, she ended up returning to the office
with a tender bottom. Let’s just say, on those days, Kaela found
any excuse she could, in order not to stay at her desk.

Toweling off, Kaela went to her chest of
drawers, where she selected an off white cotton camisole that clung
onto her washed skin, nipples poked out under the clingy material.
As for underwear, she decided on a pair of simple bikini knickers.
A perfect outfit to be caned in. Kaela smoothed out her camisole,
and went down to the parlor.

“You know why you're here young lady.” Said
Kaela's mum Fiona, who gestured at the punishment chair, indicated
Kaela should get into place. A moment’s hesitation, absently Kaela
studied her French manicure nail tips, then, with a reluctant pout,
plodded over to the hellish upholstered antique chair, reached
forward, grabbed hold of the crossbar, her not yet bared rump
squirmed in expectancy of the rattan.

No time wasted, her mum worked the waistband
of Kaela's white bikini briefs off, down over her hips, where they
bunched at knee level. Target completely exposed, Fiona nudged her
daughter's thighs further apart. The young woman let out a breath
as cool air nipped her private parts. A last adjustment, a push on
the small of her back, Kaela's mum tucked her camisole out of the
way, which revealed the under curve of Kaela's rather impressive
boobs.

Fiona unhooked the cane, gave it a test
swing.

Kaela tensed, trembled as the breeze from the
practice swish met her now vulnerable pussy.

Tap, her mum measured, ready to deliver the
first stroke.

Ack! What number of strokes was she going to
get? Kaela's mum always had an accelerative policy where it
concerned the quantity of lashes she handed out to her daughter.
That is, when Kaela turned eighteen, the minimum delivered had been
a firm eight, and at nineteen, she got nine. They'd never talked
about the new minimum for twenty-two. If there even were one? God,
Kaela hoped it wouldn't be a full dozen! That would really scathe
her arse.

Whack!

Like always, Fiona concentrated the first
stroke on that most delicate spot upon a young woman's posterior
beneath the vagina. Kaela, grunted, and yelped. The rattan raised
fresh welts as it advanced, in an orderly process toward the peak
of Kaela's pert rump.

Whack! Kaela's generous, womanly ass mounds
wobbled. These were no love taps. Kaela's mum gave her disobedient
daughter a genuine punishment caning, meant to hurt, and ensure her
daughter's contrition. This would be a thrashing Kaela recalled for
a very long time.

“OUCH!” She couldn't help herself, Kaela
bolted up.

Fiona cautioned. “Next time you're out of
position, you'll get extra strokes. Now, back over.” She tapped the
cane in her hand. “And I'd thought to be nice, and only give you
nine strokes, though, you deserve many more.”

Wiping her eyes, Kaela got back into place.
The blistered condition of her backside didn't make movement very
easy, her butt stung like hell. Brutal! They were at six. Three
more! If she could hold out for three cuts, her nightmare would
end. Of course there yet remained corner time. Compared however to
the actual thrashing, that'd be a piece of cake.

The next three cuts made Kaela's buttocks
bounce, and ferociously jiggle.

Alas, a piece of cake, this caning session
did not prove to be. Kaela made the thoughtless mistake when her
mother reached stroke number nine, to get up, and clutch her sore
bottom cheeks. Not so surprising, as number nine had been a cross
stroke meant to be laid across the previous welts.

Kaela wept, and got back into place.

Fiona delivered the extra cuts quite harshly,
which caused Kaela to yelp, and shutter as they careened into her
rump. The concluding stroke intersected opposite that of the ninth,
to brand a rived X on top of the crimson ridgelines that scarred
her butt.

Hands on head, Kaela found herself, nose
pressed into the parlor's corner, beside a bookcase. An hour she
had to wait like this. It shouldn't have felt as humiliating as it
did. Compared to the thrashing anyway, but as she stood there,
looking at the canary yellow wall, she realized corner time wasn't
going to be as smooth as she hoped. The urge to rub her abused ass
soon set in, very tempting. But Kaela knew she mustn’t, or things
would get worse.

Instead, Kaela shut her eyes; a warm feeling
began to grow inside her pussy, even as the ache in her swollen
buttocks intensified. Were her cheeks ever bruised too,
purplish-yellow welts ridged her ass, and thighs, right at the
crease between butt and legs. Just the act of breathing caused her
butt to throb.
God, she wanted to rub it!

While she stood there, bottom on display,
knickers around her knees, Kaela heard her dad come into the
parlor, she didn't glance over to look at him, nor did she speak.
He opened a drawer at a desk, removed a paper and soon after left
the room, without any comment.

Finally it got to be too much, the ache, her
pussy a gathering fire, a fact which made her blush.
Intellectually, the caning did not 'turn her on'. There existed a
world of difference between a thrashing from mum, and a guy
flipping her across his lap to spank her butt to a rosy blush. A
mild spanking appealed to her, like it did many girls, the
punishment, not so much. Even though the dampness of her pussy
betrayed her true urge. Kaela wanted to go to her room so she could
cum!

Though she should have known better, Kaela
gave in, attempted to rub away the soreness. Yet to no avail. Of
course, this proved to be a profound mistake on her part. Next
thing Kaela realized, she got herself hauled over the sofa, mum
walloped her caned ass with an oversized slipper. “Corner time,
means hands on head young lady.”

“OW! OW! OW!” Kaela yelped, but her
protestations got her no mercy.

Fiona continued to slipper for a solid ten
minutes.

When finished, Kaela's mum put her back into
the corner, added an express warning. Don't move or touch your
butt, next time she'd get another caning. Kaela was fairly
convinced she couldn't endure more of the cane...

Now her arse really felt swollen, and
misshapen. More bruises began to form over the barbarous scarlet X
which the cane had tattooed on her butt. Miniskirts would be out of
the question next work week, nor did she enjoy the thought of
wearing jeans. Too painful! It'd have to be stylish dresses. Not
that sitting at her desk would be a joy. Fashion! How could she
think of clothes now? Tears continued to drop out of Kaela's green
eyes, the urge to try and cool the heat that pounded her buttocks
went on. The temptation to rub became overbearing. On the threshold
of reaching for her ass, Kaela's mum dismissed her from the corner.
Rapidly she hiked up her knickers, headed for her bedroom. Not the
best move, the fabric, rough on her sore buttocks stung like a
bitch!