"Stop fidgeting ! I can't measure your skirt. Remember, six of the best if your skirt isn't the right length .... 19 cm... roll it up one more time .... there, 21 cm above the floor, one cm more to make sure..."
"Thanks... It feels short ! Your turn. Keep your hands on your head for a straight back .... 17 cm .... roll it up twice .... 21 cm, perfecto !"
"I'll grab my ankles .... tell me if my knickers are showing..."
"Yep, they do !"
A few minutes later we mounted our bikes, "Oh! Its too short, I can't sit on my skirt, it will fly !"
"I saw a girl with such a short skirt yesterday, and she was pedaling as fast as she could..."
Whipping Post Lane was behind the church, on the other side of the village. We tried to hold our skirts down as we rode by the co-op and bakery. Our imaginations ran wild. We felt we had seen a few old biddies with wide grins. The street sign Whipping Post Lane was very real and neatly maintained, our imaginations weren't playing tricks.
It was a picturesque country cottage removed from the lane, behind a small garden and a short cobbled path ran through it. After having rested our bikes in the bike rack we walked up to the door. There was a well polished brass knocker. Erika knocked and Sophia slowly exhaled.
The door was opened by a smiling tall gentleman, mid sixty, dressed with a black academic gown over an elegant grey tweed suit with a matching tie,
"Let me guess, you are Erika and Sophia..."
We both chimed, "Good afternoon Sir."
"Right on time young ladies, step inside my parlor on your left..."
While we stood he sat behind an old wooden desk and picked up a manila folder, "Your husbands, while making the appointment, have mentioned that you were spanked after having reported your misdeed. Erika you tell me more..."
"We each got one hundred smacks, Sir."
"Sophia tell me the detail that she is so prudishly omitting..."
Blushing as a peony Sophia answered, "It was on the bare Sir."
"Exactly, and you are now both taking your knickers off, and placing them on my desk !"
We suitably blushed, and tried not to raise our short skirts as we took them off...
"I am not going to spank you, I am going to whip you !"
For a few seconds our eyebrows danced and we felt so very bare and vulnerable under our shortish skirts. We also both felt like a wee wee.
He must have read our minds, "The loos are across the corridor... Sophia, you are first, don't keep your friend waiting !"
I remained alone, and kept tugging down my skirt.
"Lift your skirt !"
The promise of a whipping was quite an incentive to obey, and I blushed as red as a tomato as I exposed my curls.
Then Sophia was back, and I was told to visit the loos.
When I returned Sophia had taken her skirt off, and it was on his desk next to her knickers.
"Take off your skirt Erika, and place it next to your knickers on my desk."
I again blushed as a tomato when I returned next to Sophia bare from my navel to my ankle socks.
The Headmaster stood and opened a cabinet. We discovered an array of canes, straps, paddles and more. He picked up a flogger with a wooden handle and six leather tails.
"Its called a martinet, its used on young French ladies as a further deterrent after a spanking and before the belt..."
"Hands on your heads and keep them there, or I will whip the front of your thighs !"
We obeyed, and he had us taking a few steps so that he could stand between us. Suddenly I felt a sharp lash to my bottom and my hands flew down and a sharper lash to the front of my thighs followed "Ouch!" my hands hurriedly returned atop my head. Sophia was next and she did exactly the same dance. "Ouch!"
Then he whipped the back of my thighs and my hands again flew down and he whipped the front of my thighs and my hands returned atop my head and he whipped my bottom. "Oh! Ah! Ouch!"
Sophia danced as I did. He alternated between us and we didn't count the number of strokes. He whipped the back of my thighs twice and my hands remained down and twice he whipped the front of my thighs right bellow my tuft, my hands returned atop my head. Then it was Sophia, then it was me.
"OH! AH! OUCH!"
Suddenly he stopped and we were still dancing.
"That was the martinet, most of the welts will disappear within two days or three days. If you are back I'll whip you in the same fashion with a belt, and the marks will show for at least four or five days..."
When we had stopped dancing and while we kept rubbing the front of our thighs we were told to get dressed. He rubber stamped our fines with "Exempt from payment, punished as required..."
We did another small dance before climbing on our bikes and with skirts flying and showing our reddened thighs we pedaled as fast as we could on our way home...
To be continued...
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