Extract from Peach

I could have fought, I suppose. I didn't. Instead I was whimpering apologies as my dress was hoisted high over my bum, to leave my panties on plain show. His hand found my waistband on the instant, and I screamed out, imploring him not to pull them down, even as he did it, jerking them hard to spill out my bare bottom. His hand came down and I was getting it, a bare bottom spanking, just as I'd wanted, just as I'd asked for.

Only I hadn't asked for it like that, not in the hall, not in front of the appalling René-Claude. It was what I was getting though, whether I liked it or not, with my bum cheeks dancing and jiggling to a furious crescendo of slaps as I was beaten. I screamed, writhed, kicked, and tried desperately to get my panties back up. He was having none of it, snatching my hand away, twisting my hair until I screamed afresh, and finally yelling for René-Claude to hold me still as he belaboured my bottom.

René-Claude took no notice, but Madame Vaucopin did. I'd got my panties halfway back up and the first I knew about it was when she took a firm grip on them and wrenched them back down. I realised who it was, crying out in fresh consternation as I tried to get them back up. She just grabbed my wrists, wrenching them back with a strength far beyond my own, to trap my arms behind my knees with the disputed panties left in a tangle, right down, and also gripped in her powerful fingers.

It was an awful position, trapped, bum-up, showing everything, and helpless to prevent it, or my spanking. Fauçon had stopped yelling at me, but only because he was spanking me so hard he had to fight for breath. I was the same, gasping and yelling as my stinging buttocks bounced and spread behind me. My dress had come up so far my boobs showed, and they were slapping on the floor to the rhythm of the spanking, making the utter humiliation of my position even worse.

I just burst into tears, not just from the pain, but in utter frustration at my helplessness and the way I was being held. It was so unfair too, when the little idiot had been about to touch me up. He was the one who deserved punishment. Not that that mattered. I was not the one who made judgments. I was the one having her bare bottom turned red in front of the little pervert whose fault it all was, with her fanny on show and her bumhole winking behind her.

He stopped, finally, to leave me shaking with sobs and whimpering brokenly into the curtain of brown curls around my face. My bottom was on fire, and even when Madame Vaucopin let go all I could do was slump down on the floor. For a moment I just lay their, with my poor red bum still on show, before I could get it together to reach back for my panties. Not that it mattered. They'd seen everything I had to show.

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