The Dream Factory (F/F) (All new Chapter 12)

[Stiletto Amore]

The Witchfinder General


After clearing away the breakfast dishes, I followed Aunt Harriet down the hallway toward the drawing room, my heart fluttering with anticipation. She moved with effortless grace, her riding boots clicking against the polished wooden floors as I clumped after her like an uncoordinated duckling.
As we stepped inside, I noticed that Aunt Harriet had made some additions to the room. Against the far wall stood a large blackboard, the slate dark and imposing.
My school desk for the day was positioned neatly in front of it—the table from yesterday with a stack of fresh lined paper, a fountain pen, and an inkwell laid out ready for me.

“Take a seat, Samantha,” Aunt Harriet instructed, her tone cool and authoritative.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Aunt Harriet moved gracefully to the blackboard, plucked up a piece of chalk, and with a deliberate, precise motion, began writing her name in an elegant, looping script.
MRS. HARRIET
The sound of the chalk dragging against the blackboard sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, the sharp, grating noise making my toes curl inside my shoes.
It was intoxicating, and at that moment I marveled at how perfectly my childhood fantasies had been brought to life. Suddenly I felt impossibly grateful to my parents for supporting me and to Great Aunt Harriet for throwing herself into the role with such conviction.

Aunt Harriet turned, dusting her fingers together, and fixed me with an appraising look. “We will begin today with a rather grim chapter in English history—the witch hunts of 1645 to 1647”

I straightened in my chair.

“Now class,” Aunt Harriet began, pacing slowly before the blackboard, She tapped the board with the tip of the chalk. “Who can tell me about Matthew Hopkins?”

I eagerly raised my hand.

"Samantha?"

"I believe he was the Witchfinder General Miss.”

“Very good,” Aunt Harriet said with an approving nod. “Hopkins was responsible for the largest and most brutal wave of witch trials in England’s history. In just two years, he and his associates oversaw the execution of more so-called witches than had been tried in the entire century before.”

I hung onto her words, completely enthralled. Aunt Harriet was an engaging speaker, her voice smooth and authoritative. She spoke not just of the trials themselves, but of the deep-rooted misogyny that fueled them—the fear of women who were too old, too young, too intelligent, or too independent.

“These women,” she continued, “were accused of consorting with the devil, of bewitching cattle, of flying through the air at night. But, in truth, many of them were simply healers, midwives, or widows who had the misfortune of living alone.”

I swallowed hard, my imagination already running wild. In my mind’s eye, I saw the flickering torches of an angry mob, the ominous wooden stake in the center of a town square. I pictured myself in place of one of the accused, bound at the wrists, my skirts dragging in the dirt as I was presented to the jeering crowd.

My shirt collar felt suddenly warm against my throat, but I dared not loosen it.

Aunt Harriet’s voice cut through my daydream. “Now, Samantha,” she said, “consider this: If these women were truly witches, as the townspeople feared, why didn’t they simply use their magic to escape?”

I knew the answer immediately but hesitated before speaking, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

I blinked, my face suddenly hot.

“Well,” I began hesitantly, “they were probably… gagged.”

Aunt Harriet’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “That is an excellent observation,” she said, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “The townspeople believed that a witch could cast spells merely by speaking. So, to prevent this, they would ensure that the accused could not utter a word.”

I watched, my breath catching slightly, as Aunt Harriet crossed the room to a nearby cabinet. With deliberate movements, she pulled open a drawer and retrieved two, heavy objects.

I barely suppressed a gasp as she turned to show me what she held.

“These,” Aunt Harriet continued, holding up the items, “are examples of the kinds of restraints that might have been used on accused witches to prevent them from speaking.”

One was a leather bit gag, a simple but effective contraption, the kind I had only ever seen in historical illustrations. Next to it was a fearsome-looking metal harness gag, its cruel iron shape less familiar, but equally thrilling.
My eyes widened as she placed them on the desk in front of me.

I looked up at Aunt Harriet in astonishment. “Are they… real?”

“They are modern reproductions,” she said smoothly, her gaze never leaving mine. “Though I assure you, they are quite functional.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly bone dry. The mere sight of them sent my pulse racing. What on earth was she doing with these?
Did she expect me to try one on? The thought alone made my stomach flip in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Aunt Harriet watched my reaction carefully, her lips twitching as if she found my wide-eyed expression amusing. “Fascinating, aren’t they?” she mused. “I thought they would serve as interesting props for today’s lesson.”

“They’re certainly very,.. evocative,” I agreed

“I’m glad you think so, as they bring me to the subject of today's assignment. I want you to write a short story—no less than 2,000 words—describing a witch trial from the perspective of the accused.”

I felt a thrill of excitement at the challenge.

“Aunt Harriet continued. “Describe her thoughts, her fears, her determination. How does she respond to the accusations? Does she protest her innocence? Does she embrace her supposed power? How does the town treat her? Was she perhaps, betrayed by a loved one?”
I scribbled down notes as quickly as my hand could move.
The assignment was perfect. I could already picture the story playing out in my head—the flickering torchlight, the cold iron shackles, the whispers of the townspeople as I was led to my fate.

Aunt Harriet smiled in quiet satisfaction "I take it you approve of the subject matter?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Very much so, Ma’am,” I said earnestly. “I can’t wait to get started.”

She smirked. “Good girl. Now, I believe that concludes the morning’s lessons.”

I blinked, surprised at how quickly time had passed.
“Go wash up,” Aunt Harriet instructed. “Lunch will be served shortly.”

I stood, clutching my notebook, already itching to begin my story.
This was already the most thrilling homework assignment I had ever been given.

Lunch was sparse to say the least. A small salad made up of lettuce, onion, tomato and cucumber. Precisely the kind of ingredients I would routinely toss from my hamburger.
There was no dressing, no bread, and no sign of dessert.
"Tuck in Samantha" Aunt Harriet encouraged.

I nodded obediently, though I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a wistful glance at Aunt Harriet's over-stuffed plate.

I reluctantly speared a cherry tomato with my fork, my stomach already growling in protest. As a girl of ample curves and what might be described as a ‘healthy’ appetite, I found the meager portion thoroughly unsatisfying, but I reminded myself that this was all part of the game. An enforced diet was entirely in keeping with the boarding school fantasy. My rumbling stomach was simply further proof that I was suffering for my art.
Once lunch was concluded, we reconvened in the drawing room for our afternoon lessons - this time focused on the subject of deportment.
What followed was an excruciatingly detailed seminar on posture, poise, and the correct application of cutlery.
I could scarcely believe how many utensils existed purely for the consumption of fish.
Aunt Harriet quizzed me mercilessly, holding up different implements from her collection and expecting me to name their proper function. I did my best, though more often than not, I failed to produce the correct answer.

“That is a fruit fork, not a dessert fork,” Aunt Harriet corrected coolly as I fumbled through another quick fire test. “And what have I told you about slouching?”

I snapped upright, my spine protesting at the rigid posture she demanded.
By the time the lesson transitioned from table manners to posture, my head was spinning.
Which was unfortunate, because my very next task involved balancing a book on top of it.

“Our final lesson today will take place in the garden,” Aunt Harriet announced suddenly and without warning.

Without another word, she selected a hardcover book from the shelf, and threw open the set of French doors revealing an expansive and immaculately kept lawn.

As Aunt Harriet strode purposefully across the garden I hurried after her, careful to try to maintain my poise. After a brisk walk we arrived at a set of expensive looking garden furniture,

“This exercise,” she began, as she placed the volume of The Complete Works of Jane Austen atop my head. “Is designed to test your poise, balance, and grace"
I nodded, determined to prove myself.

"I want you to walk from here to the far end of the garden and back without letting the book fall.”

I took a tentative step forward, feeling the book shift slightly as I moved. I instinctively threw my arms out to steady myself, but Aunt Harriet’s sharp voice stopped me mid-motion.

“Arms at your sides, Samantha. You are not an acrobat on a tightrope.”

Blushing, I quickly dropped my hands and resumed walking.
Somewhat predictably, the first attempt was a complete disaster. I barely made it five paces before the book wobbled precariously and tumbled to the ground.

“Again,” Aunt Harriet commanded, retrieving the book and handing it back to me.
I set my jaw and placed it back on my head, determined to do better this time.

For the next hour, I paraded back and forth across the garden under Aunt Harriet’s unyielding scrutiny. The heat of the sun bore down upon me, the still afternoon air making my blouse cling uncomfortably to my back. Sweat beaded at my temples, and I was aching in places I didn't know I had muscles.
Before long, I stripped down to my shirt sleeves, rolling them up neatly to my elbows, although I knew better than to ask for permission to remove my tie or loosen my shirt collar.

Aunt Harriet, however, remained perfectly composed in her full riding ensemble, the bright red tunic and immaculate white jodhpurs still crisp and pristine. Not a single bead of perspiration touched her brow, her posture as rigid as ever. I couldn’t help but marvel at her self-possession. If she was feeling the heat, she certainly gave no indication, standing statuesque and regal beneath the afternoon sun, as composed and as unruffled as ever.
Aunt Harriet watched with hawk-like scrutiny from behind her thick, dark shades as I paraded across the gravel pathways of the garden, my every step measured, my arms held stiffly at my sides.

“Chin up. Back straight. Chest out”

"Yes, Ma’am," I replied, my voice coming out breathy as I adjusted my gait once more.

It took several attempts before I was able to complete an entire circuit of the course without the book falling.

"Very good Samantha" she said at last, nodding in approval. "But before we conclude today’s lessons, I have one final challenge for you.”

Her sharp eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as she stepped forward her hands gliding up toward my throat.
With a practised ease, she reached for the knot of my tie, tugging it loose and drawing the material from around my neck with a slow, deliberate motion as though I were a mannequin in a shop window.
My face flamed with sudden heat from the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
She was so close, her sharp perfume mingling with the fresh air. I couldn’t quite meet her gaze, my pulse quickening as she held my tie between her hands.

"You look rather flushed, dear," she remarked, raising a knowing eyebrow.

"I-It's just the heat, Ma’am," I stammered, though we both knew better.

Aunt Harriet smiled faintly, then, without another word, she stepped behind me. The sound of her boots on the gravel sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could ask what she was doing, she placed the thicker end of the tie gently over my eyes and began knotting it at the back of my head.

"Ma’am?" I murmured, my voice uncertain.

"Don't worry. You're perfectly safe," she said kindly, her breath warm against my ear. "But you will complete the course again—but this time, blindfolded."

I exhaled shakily.
The loss of sight made everything feel more intense. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the uncomfortable stickiness of sweat clinging to my blouse, the distant sound of birds chirping in the hedgerow—all of it was heightened by my forced reliance on my other senses.
I felt Aunt Harriet place the book carefully atop my head,

"When you're ready - you can begin.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I moved carefully, every step cautious, my arms held stiffly at my sides. But my balance was off and the book soon slid from my head, tumbling to the ground with a dull thud.
I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Again," Aunt Harriet commanded, retrieving the book and placing it back in position.
My second attempt lasted longer—I managed to make it halfway before I lost my balance, sending the book falling once more.
I clenched my jaw.

Aunt Harriet’s tone was calm but firm. “Precision, Samantha. This is an exercise in control, not speed.”

"Yes, Ma’am," I murmured.

On the third attempt, I focused every ounce of my concentration. One step at a time. Slow. Deliberate. My breath came steady, and I kept my spine impossibly straight. I felt the book wobble dangerously but forced myself not to panic. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the end of the path.
I let out a slow breath.

Aunt Harriet was silent for a moment. Then—"Well done Samantha."

Relief washed over me, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as she removed the blindfold. The world burst back into view, the sunlight almost blinding after so long in darkness.
Aunt Harriet folded my tie neatly in her hands before offering it back to me. "Reassemble your uniform properly. Then you are dismissed for the day."
"Yes, Ma’am."

I took the tie from her and hastily refastened it, making sure to tie the Windsor knot just as she had shown me.

Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, my limbs aching from the day’s training. My body was exhausted, but my mind was buzzing with energy.
With a sigh, I sat up and pulled out my notebook. It was time to complete my writing assignment.
The words flowed easily, as if I had just been waiting for the chance to put them to paper. I wrote feverishly, my imagination running wild as I lost myself in the fantasy of being put on trial as a witch. In the story I subjected my heroine to every indignity and ritual humiliation I could imagine, peppering the story with scenes from my favourite damsel in distress fantasies.
For over an hour, I was utterly lost in the world I had created.
When at last I set my pen down, my heart was pounding.
I stared at the pages, suddenly feeling lightheaded with nerves. The story was so personal, so unmistakably steeped in my deepest desires.
A sharp knock at my door made me jump.

“Samantha,” Aunt Harriet’s voice called out, smooth and authoritative. “Dinner is ready. Bring your assignment with you.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a strange thrill course through me.

Clutching the neatly written pages in my hands, I made my way downstairs, my pulse racing.
Tonight, my fantasies would be laid bare before Aunt Harriet’s watchful gaze.
And I had no idea what she would say.
I descended the stairs slowly, my pulse quickening with each step.

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Nine - Storytime


I found my Great Aunt in the library, seated behind an expansive desk that looked like it had been carved from the hull of a once great ship. In keeping with the nautical theme, Harriet was now dressed in a frilled white blouse, open at the collar, with knee length boots and a figure hugging pair of black leather trousers. It was remarkably easy to imagine myself, the captive Wendy Bird being presented to a fearsome, if rather striking pirate Queen

Aunt Harriet didn’t look up at first. She was apparently occupied making notes in an old leather-bound ledger, each stroke of the fountain pen delivered with immaculate precision. For all I knew she was writing out her shopping list, but it had the desired impact.

I waited, holding the manilla document folder tightly. mindful that that my cheeks were already glowing a healthy shade of fuschia.

“Yes?,” she said, eyes still firmly fixed on the page.

“I finished the essay Miss."

Finally, she looked up, setting down her pen. “Is that it?”

I nodded pathetically and stepped forward, nervously handing over the folder.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she noticed my mounting discomfort, but otherwise she remained firmly in character as she opened the document.

Standing to attention with my chin up and my hands clasped behind my back I watched silently as she began to study my homework.

God, what had I been thinking? The whole thing was ridiculous. An overripe gothic melodrama dripping in innuendo in which a nineteenth-century heroine is subjected to bondage, ritual humiliation, torture and interrogation - at the hands of a stern jailor who bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain Great Aunt.

Why did I write that? And more importantly, why had I given it to her?

I thought about snatching it back. Pretending it was all a joke. But that would hardly be in the spirit of the game, and I was having far too much fun to turn back now,..

Finally she came to the end of the story, a wry smile threatening to break out in the corner of her mouth.

My stomach performed an impressive series of somersaults (like a drummer falling down a flight of stairs) as I waited for Harriet to deliver her verdict.

She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin.

Finally, after an immeasurably long silence, Harriet spoke.

“Well, that was quite the adventure," She purred “Doctor Who, by way of the Marquis de Sade.”

I felt my ears go pink.

“Wait. You know Doctor Who!?!"

“Of course - I'm not a complete luddite Samantha. I grew up watching Jon Pertwee. He was quite the dandy in his day - frilled shirts, velvet jackets, bow ties - I suppose you could say that I found his fashion choices… somewhat formative.”

I gazed admiringly at her outfit - she was dressed like a disco space queen.

"So," I asked tentatively "What did you think?"

"Well the prose is a little leaden in places and it's let down by a few unforgivable spelling and

grammatical errors - but it held my attention throughout. The plot was engaging, if a little repetitive in places - I lost count of the number of times Evelina was captured and recaptured - but the historical details were well-researched and lovingly rendered,"

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry, grin, or run out of the room. Maybe all three.

“Thank you,” I said, softly.

"You're very welcome dear," She went on "I thought the characters were vividly drawn - I was particularly taken with Mistress Thorn - and the sapphic longing between our hero and her aged jailer was really rather affecting in places"

I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a smile.

"And the final coda - where Evelina is revealed to be an actual witch - was a lovely twist in the tale - if a touch bloody for my tastes. The flaying of the magistrate scene was,.. rather excessive.”

I winced inwardly. “I might have got a little carried away there,”

"Oh don't apologize. A little gothic horror never hurt anyone"

She handed me back my manuscript now scored in red with a crisp A at the top.

“I don’t give those out lightly,” she said. “But you've earned it.”

My breath caught. “Thank you, Aunt Harriet.”

She stood, smooth and deliberate “As a reward, after supper you can go ahead and join me the lounge.”

The less said about that evening's meal the better - I was forced to struggle through a plate of rice cakes, whilst watching my Great Aunt wolf down a plate of pancakes - then it was on to my treat - an evening with Harriet.

To my relief, the living room was far more inviting than I had anticipated and featured no stuffed animals whatsoever. A grand fireplace took center stage, its mantle lined with carefully arranged books and a stately clock that ticked with quiet precision. A dark leather armchair sat by the hearth, clearly Harriet’s chosen seat, while an equally well-maintained, if rather austere sofa faced a large, polished cabinet that housed an ancient television.

Truth be told, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Aunt Harriet even owned a set - although predictably it looked like it belonged in a museum.

I stood hesitantly in the doorway, unsure of the correct protocol for such a rare privilege.

"Come inside my dear - take a seat"

I did as I was told, sitting primly on the edge of the sofa with my hands in my lap.

Aunt Harriet turned to me, and after a brief pause, she offered, “You may remove your tie, if you wish.”

I reached up, carefully loosening the Windsor knot I had tied so diligently that morning. I slid the tie from my collar, folding it neatly and setting it on the armrest of the sofa.

I considered unfastening the top button of my blouse as well—it was excessively warm in the room—but thought better of it. Aunt Harriet hadn’t said I could, after all.

Her eyes flickered to my still-buttoned collar. She said nothing, but I caught the faintest hint of approval in her expression before she returned to her task of the VCR to the back of the television.

She settled into her chair and reached for a cut-glass bowl on the side table.

“Would you care for a sweet?” she asked.

I hesitated, afraid of walking in to a trap. “Yes, please.”

She handed me a small, chalky-looking boiled sweet. I popped it into my mouth and immediately regretted it. It tasted of aniseed and nail varnish remover.

I fought the urge to grimace as the bitter flavor coated my tongue.

Aunt Harriet, now seated in her armchair, observed my reaction with amusement.

“An acquired taste,” she noted.

“That’s one way of putting it, Ma’am,” I managed, forcing myself to keep the sweet in my mouth out of sheer determination.

With a slight smirk, she picked up the remote and clicked on the television.

“I understand young people are rather partial to superheroes these days, so I picked out something I thought you might enjoy.”

That piqued my interest. “Oh?”

The screen flickered to life with a hum and a brief warble of static before the picture sharpened.

Then, that oh-so-familiar bassline kicked in—da-da-da-da-daaah!—followed by a cymbal crash and the unmistakable lyrics:

"Wonder Woman! All the world is waiting for you..."

My heart practically sang with delight. Of course as a lover of both bondage and retro TV I already knew this series inside out, but something about watching it in company - Aunt Harriet’s no less, made it feel even more thrilling, almost illicit.

This particular episode was one I knew by heart. It was the one where Diana Prince is investigating an oil spill off the California coast, only to discover a greedy land developer is behind it all— Peak seventies environmentalism.

But I wasn’t here for the ecological message (or even for the kidnaped dolphin) I wanted to see

Diana Prince get snatched up.

As soon as Diana began poking around the dockside in her black trouser suit, I could feel the anticipation rising. A capture scene was coming. I knew the beats. I could practically hum the suspenseful score from memory.

And then—there it was.

Diana turns a corner and walks right into a trap. Two of the developer’s goons grab her roughly. She resists, of course, but remains graceful and poised throughout her ordeal, even when they decide to throw her on board their yacht.

I bit down gently on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from squealing aloud.

There she sat, perched obediently on the edge of a gaudy sofa—her hands tied neatly behind her back with rope, and her ankles secured just as firmly. There was a thick black scarf tied tightly between Diana's teeth.

“Goodness gracious me” Harriet commented "Ms Prince is really in trouble now"

I could barely form words. “Y-yeah. - I don't see how she's going to be able to turn into Wonder Woman with her hands and feet all tied up like that,"

She smiled, but not unkindly.

"Yes - It's quite the pickle"

I didn’t dare meet her gaze. I stared hard at the television as Diana began to struggle—calmly, methodically, like someone who’d been tied up before and knew how to escape. Her bound hands fumbled at the knots behind her, her body shifting subtly with each attempt.

And then—victory. Her hands slipped free, but she didn’t go for the gag right away. No. She untied her feet first.

Only after she was completely unbound did she reach up and untie the scarf, gently pulling it

from between her lips. She sat for a second, breathing hard from her exertions, clutching the fabric in one hand.

And then—whoosh—a twirl of colour and sparks. Wonder Woman was back. Justice was served. The dolphin was rescued and the villains - thwarted.

I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

“Well,” Aunt Harriet said smoothly, “that was rather spirited, wasn’t it?”

I swallowed. “Y-yes, Ma’am.”

"Would you care to watch another?” she asked, her tone deceptively neutral.

My heart thumped.

“Yes please Ma’am.”

She nodded once and reached for the remote. “Then I believe we’re in for an old fashioned double feature.”

I adjusted myself on the sofa, hoping my face wasn’t quite as red as it felt.

The screen flickered again. Another episode. Another of my all time favourites. In this one, Diana was once again investigating a series of suspicious shipments at the docks, only to be captured by a group of criminals who—naturally—had plans to detonate a bomb in a warehouse.

This time, they tied her to a chair—arms to the rests, legs pressed together.

Diana tried to reason with them, using that same patient, no-nonsense tone that she usually used on her kidnappers, but the head villain wasn’t having any of it.

“Put a gag in her mouth!” he barked, waving toward one of his goons. But then, changing his mind, he crossed the room himself, snatching up the thick black scarf himself

(Was this the same one from the previous episode? or did they buy them in bulk?', I wondered to myself)

There was a vivid close-up as the gag was drawn tightly between Diana’s lips and knotted at the nape of her neck.

Diana blinked, but her eyes burned with defiance.

I felt Harriet glance at me again. but I pretended not to notice.

Now there was a time bomb set ticking ominously on a nearby table, but Diana could only watch helplessly whilst Mmmphing frantically into her gag.

And then—enter Henry. A loveable idiot, if there ever was one. He rushed over to her and started fumbling with the ropes. But when she tried to draw his attention to the bomb with increasingly urgent “Mmmmph! Mmmph-mmMMph!” sounds, he just shushed her—“Don’t worry, I’ve got this!”—and ran off to tinker with the wiring.

I practically burst with sympathetic frustration.

She sat there, roped to the chair, gagged tight, watching the bomb count down, unable to do anything but glare at Henry and squirm in her restraints.

Eventually, Henry managed to disarm the bomb. He returned and untied her ropes, but left the gag for last.

Diana reached up, slowly, and pulled it away herself. She held the scarf for a moment—then tossed it aside and spun into Wonder Woman.

Cue theme song, roll titles.

As the credits rolled, I sat there stunned.

“Well,” Harriet said at last, turning to me, “I think that was even more thrilling than the last story”

I was inclined to agree, but when I tried to speak, my voice caught.

I cleared my throat. “Y-yes, Ma’am. Very exciting.”

“Yes, I rather I thought you might enjoy it,” she said mildly.

I couldn’t help but let out a laugh—nervous, a little too loud.

Harriet stood and turned off the television. “But I think that’s quite enough stimulation for one evening. It's time for bed.”

I rose quickly, smoothing down my trousers and reaching for my tie where I’d left it on the armrest. I folded it into my hand.

“Goodnight, Aunt Harriet,” I said, my voice still slightly breathless.

She gave a slight nod, watching me go. “Sleep well, Samantha.”



As I slowly ascended the stairs I turned the events of the evening over in my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder, was it really a coincidence that both episodes that Aunt Harriet had selected had featured lengthy tie-up scenes? That seemed unlikely, as they were not linked sequentially. No, it was almost certainly deliberate,

Curiouser and curiouser I thought to myself as I padded up the stairs.

Back in the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a long moment, savouring the events of the evening.

My head was swimming—not from exhaustion, though I was tired—but from the realisation that something had shifted in the dynamic between the two of us.

The performance was still ongoing, yes; Harriet still reigned supreme as headmistress, governess, pirate queen, and all-around disciplinarian. But tonight—tonight had felt… different.

There had been a generosity to her actions, a sly intimacy beneath the usual rules and rituals. She’d read my story. She’d recognised herself in the narrative. And she hadn’t flinched.

More than that—she’d responded favourably.

And those television episodes hadn’t just been some random choices from an old VHS library. They were hand-picked, curated like fine wine.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks. They were still flushed.

I set the tie neatly on the desk, then I slipped off my blazer, taking care to hang it properly before unbuttoning the grey cardigan beneath.

FinI reached the high collar of my shirt and hesitated—fingertips grazing the top button. I’d kept it fastened all evening out of respect, or possibly obedience.

With a slow exhale, I reached up and undid the top button of my blouse.

The pressure around my throat lifted, and I instinctively rolled my neck from side to side, relishing the increased mobility. It was like taking off a noose—one I’d worn so long, I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t my own skin.

My blouse came off next, sleeves turned inside out as I shrugged free, this was quickly followed by my trousers.

When I reached my underwear, I hesitated. My cheeks flamed as I became acutely aware of the faint, damp warmth between my thighs. For a moment, I stared down at myself, the fabric clinging uncomfortably.

I didn’t quite know how to feel.

But then I thought about Aunt Harriet.

She didn’t shame me when I stammered.

She didn’t flinch when I handed her my erotic story.

She hadn’t once made fun of me for the way I looked, or how I flushed whenever she stood too close.

So it followed that she was unlikely to judge me for getting aroused whilst watching Linda Carter get roped and tied.

In fact, I suspected she already knew.

I balled up the damp underpants and dropped them into the laundry basket with everything else. Then I padded quietly into the bathroom, bracing myself as I turned on the shower.

If possible the water was even colder than yesterday.

I yelped and danced in place for a second, then steeled myself and stepped under the flow. The shock of it was enough to chase away any last vestiges of embarrassment. I braved it for a full minute before retreating to the safety of my room.

Toweling off I slipped into the loose cotton pyjamas before climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin with a contented sigh.

Suffice to say, I couldn't wait to see what joys tomorrow will bring.

[lockpick98]

I actually registered on the site just to comment on this story. It is one of my favorite stories on here. I don’t know why it doesn’t get more love!! Keep up the great work, and I am looking forward to the next chapter.

[hafnermg]

Excellent story!! I can't wait for more!!

[RopeBunny]

Just discovered this.

Amazing, really well written, some great descriptions not just of the action but the settings too.

Especially liked the random train encounter, that you've bought the character back a couple of times too, adds an extra something to the story that Samantha has someone to discuss things with.

Looking forward to more

[Stiletto Amore]

I actually registered on the site just to comment on this story. It is one of my favorite stories on here. I don’t know why it doesn’t get more love!! Keep up the great work, and I am looking forward to the next chapter.

Thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking the time to offer such positive feedback.
It can sometimes feel that your work simply disappears into the ether so it's really gratifying to learn it is being read and enjoyed (even if it's just by a handful of people)
Hmm, well I suppose I should think about writing the next instalment..

[Stiletto Amore]

Excellent story!! I can't wait for more!!

That's very kind of you to say! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.

[Stiletto Amore]

Just discovered this.

Amazing, really well written, some great descriptions not just of the action but the settings too.

Especially liked the random train encounter, that you've bought the character back a couple of times too, adds an extra something to the story that Samantha has someone to discuss things with.

Looking forward to more

Yay! I'm so glad that you're enjoying it.
That's really sweet of you to say - I really appreciate the thoughtful feedback/ encouragement.
It's been lovely to discover that my stor(ies) have not disappeared entirely without a trace.
I'm sure Vee will be delighted to learn that she has a fan - Rest assured this won't be the last time that she appears in the story.
Thanks again!

[Beaumains]

It remains a lovely written story with a kind of dynamic I have not seen before in the stories on this site, so it is very creative to say the least. It is truly a unique story here!

[Stiletto Amore]

It remains a lovely written story with a kind of dynamic I have not seen before in the stories on this site, so it is very creative to say the least. It is truly a unique story here!

Thank you for the lovely feedback. So glad you're enjoying it

[Stiletto Amore]

Insomnia

Sleep was proving elusive.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried. I’d done all the sensible things — counted sheep, listed off the elements of the periodic table, even recited pi to 260 decimal places — but still my brain stubbornly refused to do the decent thing and power down for the night.
Of course it didn’t help that my stomach was busy staging a dirty protest of its own.
Every few minutes, it let out a low, plaintive growl that could only be described as a groan of existential despair. Honestly, if there were a union for internal organs, my digestive system would be working the picket line right now, waving placards that read WE DEMAND CARBS and SALAD IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR ACTUAL FOOD

I tried ignoring it. I tried reasoning with it. I even tried threatening it with another of Harriet’s rancid candies if it didn’t stop complaining, but it responded with a growl of such intensity that I half expected my Great Aunt to appear at my door armed with a whip and a chair, accusing me of harbouring a wild animal.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.
Above my head was a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.
I watched as the light fitting swayed slightly in the breeze from the half-open window. Its slow, languid motion was almost hypnotic — and unfortunately, it reminded me of something.
Edgar Allen Poe’s - The Pit and the Pendulum - a story that had terrified and fascinated me in equal measure.
Brilliant. Just what I needed to lull me to sleep: a mental image of a sharp, swinging blade descending inexorably toward some poor unfortunate soul—completely terrifying in reality, utterly thrilling in fantasy.

I rearranged myself on the bed, spreading my arms and legs like a starfish. My mind, as usual, conjured up a scenario where I was a helpless damsel. In this particular fantasy, I was bound to a wooden board, a filthy gag pressed between my lips, my chest rising and falling with a mixture of dread and excitement. I couldn’t help but imagine it all with the utmost detail—the roughness of the ropes against my wrists, the coarseness of the cloth against my tongue, the snugness of the tight collar at my throat,
For some reason, despite a lifelong fear of horses, in my fantasy I had inexplicably outfitted myself in a full riding outfit - complete with cream bow blouse, figure hugging jodhpurs, and black knee-high boots. Maybe in my fantasies I was a member of the landed gentry. Just my luck, I inherit a small fortune, only to find myself locked up in a dungeon.
And then, as if by magic, Harriet appeared. Only now she was no longer my Great Aunt but the Grand Inquisitor of my darkest fantasies. This time she was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera complete with tuxedo, hat, cape and iconic half mask. As a lover of both musical theatre and dominant women in masculine dress, perhaps I shouldn't have been too surprised that my imagination had cast me as Christine in this nightmarish tableau.
Harriet, her hands clasped behind her, slowly walked around me, surveying my bound form with a professional, exacting gaze - cataloguing each and every detail, from my flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, to the way I moved the gag around my mouth when I swallowed.

"Saludos señora Ward," She purred "“Y bienvenida a mi humilde morada.
Spanish wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but I caught enough to get the gist.

Having completed her circuit, she leaned close and whispered in my ear in that way that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
“I trust,” she continued, switching back to English, “that our accommodations are... to your liking?”

I played my part and mewed loudly into my gag.

Harriet tilted her head, pretending to interpret my incoherent protests. “Ah,” she said softly, “you wish to register a complaint. I should warn you, mi pequeña bruja, the management does not take kindly to, cómo se dice,.. troublesome guests.”

Yet, as much as every part of this scenario was designed to be terrifying, As the sweat pooled at the small of my back and the blush threatened to spread across my cheeks I was finding it almost impossible to hide my arousal.
Inwardly I cursed my overactive libido.

Harriet/ The Phantom couldn't fail to notice how I squirmed in my bonds.
“My, my,” she gloated, with a knowing smile upon her blood red lips. “what a vivid complexion you are wearing this evening. Tell me, is it fear of the Pendulum… or perhaps something more?”

I flushed hotter, and the dampness between my thighs became increasingly impossible to ignore.

In the real world, sleep seemed further away than ever. The more I tried to stop thinking about the fantasy of being trussed up and gagged at the hands of a masked villainess in a tuxedo, the more vividly the images returned.

Despite a second cold shower, I remained as alert as a squirrel at a greyhound track.
Finally, I gave up pretending.

With a groan, I sat up, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and squinted at the screen. 20:13.
It was still early evening, although as per the terms of Great Aunt Harriet's strict bedtimes, it might as well have been the dead of night.
Fortunately this meant most normal adults were still awake.
I scrolled through my contacts, until I reached Vee.
I typed out a message.
Me: Hey, you awake?

The dots appeared almost instantly.
Vee: Of course I am. It’s literally still light outside. What’s up, grandma?
I smiled despite myself.

Me: Grandma?! I’ll have you know bedtime in this establishment is 20:00 sharp. Lights out. No exceptions.

A pause, then:
Vee: Wait. You’re serious?

Me: Deadly. I’m writing this from under the covers like some Victorian orphan.

Vee: OMG Your Aunt really commits to the bit, huh?

Me: You have no idea. Herdedicationn to the cause of method acting would make Daniel Day Lewis blush.

Vee: You sound like you don’t even mind though

Me: Haha! How very dare you? Do you think I enjoy the starched uniforms, cold showers and arcane punishments?!

Vee: The lady doth protest too much, methinks

Me: Excuse me?

Vee: Oh come on, Sam. You’re living your best sub life and we both know it.

I stare at the screen, biting my lip to stop from laughing.
Me: Ok Sherlock, You got me - I'm having the best time.

Vee: Haha! I knew it! Tell me everything, leaving out no detail, however small.

I proceeded to talk Vee through the edited highlights of the last couple of days.

Vee: Coo! Your Aunt sounds pretty amazing!

Me: Totally! She's the best! There’s just one fly in the ointment.

Vee: Oh, do tell...

Me: The food.

Vee: How do you mean? Is she a bad cook?

Me: I wouldn't know. I'm on a strict diet - basically I'm eating all the food that my food should be eating.

Vee: Eww Salad. That is a cruel and unusual punishment.

Me: My thoughts exactly.

Vee: Hmm, well maybe rationing’s still a thing in whatever decade your Aunt thinks she’s living in.

Me: Haha! Could be. But it's driving me potty.

Vee: Well, maybe you need to speak up. Tell her that this is against the terms of the Geneva convention.

Me: I wouldn’t dare. The last time I made a suggestion regarding the running of the house she gagged me, taped my hands together and made me stand in the corner of the room.

Vee: That doesn't sound too bad

Me: Well, no, obviously - it was awesome. But I'm just saying, it didn't result in a slap up lunch

Vee: Fair point..

Vee: That said, I do have one possible solution..

Me: Do tell

Vee: Three words. Midnight. Larder. Raid

Me: Your words intrigue me. What are you thinking

Vee: You should totally sneak downstairs and rustle up some tuck to take back to your room for a midnight feast
My mind raced with visions of some of favourite boarding school adventures, of mischievous school girls in dressing gowns creeping about in corridors after dark.

There was never any doubt that I would accept the challenge. The only real question was whether I'd earn myself a full belly, or a sore backside - and which I'd prefer.

Me :I am so in

Vee: Haha! Well color me surprised. I’d wish you luck, but I suspect you probably wouldn't mind if you got caught red handed
I grinned at the screen. Vee got me.

Me: No comment.

Vee: Happy trails Sammi

I sent her a heart emoji, switched the phone to silent, and slipped it under my pillow.
It was time to begin my latest adventure.

[Beaumains]

I keep enjoying your writing style very much, especially the little ultra-specific details and the wild fantasy. Still, I had expected aunt Harriet to find her on her phone and tie her up all night as punishment. But, hey, the night is not over yet (or has the night even begun)? Thanks for continuing to post your unique contributions to this forum.

[Stiletto Amore]

I keep enjoying your writing style very much, especially the little ultra-specific details and the wild fantasy. Still, I had expected aunt Harriet to find her on her phone and tie her up all night as punishment. But, hey, the night is not over yet (or has the night even begun)? Thanks for continuing to post your unique contributions to this forum.

So glad to hear that you're still enjoying the story - despite the erratic publishing schedule.

I really appreciate the encouragement.

Sorry to disappoint you - alas, Samantha did not, as of yet, get caught on the phone - however, the night, as they say, is young..

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Eleven – The Midnight Raid

Of course, no hero worth her salt would attempt to conduct a midnight raid upon their Great Aunt's larder, without donning a disguise of some form, and to that end I was currently wearing a grey trench coat over my pyjamas, with my long curls hidden by a trilby hat and my features concealed behind a red bandanna tied around the lower half of my face like a bandit mask.

I liked to think I looked like a hard-boiled detective from a 50's film noir, but in truth I probably looked more like Inspector Gadget, than Philip Marlow.

My heart thumped in my chest as I slowly reached for the door, gingerly turning the handle so as not to make a sound.

Conducting myself with all the stealth of an overweight panther in pink fluffy carpet slippers, I crept along the corridor with my back pressed against the wall like I was avoiding the glare of a prison search light.

Having successfully traversed the landing I tiptoed down the stairs, taking care to miss the impossibly creaky final step - the Indiana Jones theme playing in my head throughout.

With the kitchen door now in sight, I simply had to make it across the hallway and I was home free.

After ducking beneath a volley of (imaginary) poisoned darts I adjusted my hat and congratulated myself on another successful heist.

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine the glorious feast that awaited me: a towering, monstrosity of a sandwich—an edible skyscraper layered with cold cuts, 5 types of American cheese, pickles, mustard, mayo and whatever else I could pilfer.

And then, out of nowhere, I was seized roughly from behind, a gloved hand pressed tightly over my mouth, my left arm pushed up my back.

I froze, like a startled deer, caught in the headlights of a two ton trailer.
My mind raced, trying to identify my assailant in the dim hallway light. For a brief, terrifying moment, I genuinely wondered if a real intruder had somehow gotten into the house.

“Shhh…” came a soft whisper in my ear, at once warm and familiar. “Don’t struggle, Samantha. It’s only me.”

Her hand slid away from my mouth for the briefest of moments, just long enough for me to confirm the identity of my mysterious assailant.
Of course, it was none other than Aunt Harriet herself, now clad in an impossibly chic green and black robe.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, affecting a mangled cockney drawl that was equal parts, Dick Van Dyke and Bill Sikes.

“And what ‘ave we ‘ere then, eh? A right proper little Nancy Drew ain't ya'?! Snoopin’ about t' school graunds where she don’t belong?”


“Mm-mmph!” I retorted whilst I wriggled and squirmed contentedly. To my great joy, the game had entered a new and exciting phase.

“Don’t struggle dearie, or it’ll be the worse for ye!!” she hissed theatrically, tightening her grip just a little.

“Oh, we’re doing this now” I thought happily to myself

I ceased my struggling and mewed plaintively into her hand, utterly thrilled by the sensation of being completely at her mercy. This was exactly the kind of excitement I’d been craving—I was only disappointed that she hadn't caught me after I'd eaten my fill of her secret stash of candy - but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Happy to continue?" She whispered against my ear, breaking character

I nodded eagerly. 'Mm, very mch so' I mumbled happily

"Eeeexcellent" She said, demonstrating a more than passable Monty Burns

And with that, the game resumed.

“Now then,” she said, in a villainous purr. “Don’t you be goin' nowhere's, my meddlin' lil' snoop. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail — and you wouldn’t want to make me chase you, would you!?”

There was never any question that I would obey.

I adjusted my bandana mask and affected my best detective’s growl. “You’ll never get away with this you- you- you Cad!” which earned a peal of laughter from Harriet.

“Aye! That’s what they all say pet!” she cackled “Until they’re properly bound up and gagged, that is!”

I stood stock still. Partly because that was what the scene required, but mostly because I didn’t trust my knees not to give way if I tried to move - such was my mounting excitement at what was to come.

Harriet turned away, crossing to the writing desk by the window, her dressing gown trailing behind her like the magnificent cloak of an evil queen.

I watched with eager fascination as she opened the top drawer and rummaged for something inside.

When she turned back, there was a coil of thick hessian cord in her hands.
I couldn't help but blurt out "You keep a stash of rope in the hallway?"

Harriet's mock-glare in response made me bite back another laugh.
"Make ya' jokes whilst ye can!" She mocked, holding up the rope snapping it tight between her fists "It'll be a ole' lot 'arder to poke fun wiv' a' sock in yer mouth'

I recognised my cue.
Without needing to be told, I turned obediently, placing my hands together behind my back.

"My, my - You's an eager young thing ain't ya" Harriet teased "Almost loike ya' WANT me to truss you up like a Christmas goose"

I offered no defence, my flushed expression and heavy breathing were admission enough.

"Don't worry ma' little cherub," She whispered conspiratorially "yon secret is safe wi' me"

I beamed with gratitude.

The atmosphere between us was giddy and conspiratorial— we were two overgrown children at play in a world of make-believe

Harriet came up behind me and, with deft precision drew my hands together and looped the rough, hessian cord around my wrists. After three circuits she drew the cord tight and performed a perfect hitch knot. Next she wound the ends of rope between my wrists so that they were secured in an extremely inflexible criss-cross pattern.

"There!" She purred, as she finished up with the final knot, which she made sure was as tight as she could make "That should 'old ya'!"

As I studied my bound wrists in the hallway mirror I couldn't help but agree.
It was the type of ropework that would have earned admiring glances from fishermen, boy scout and dominatrix alike.
The coarse ropes allowed very little play although mercifully I was still able to wiggle my fingers.

I was stuck fast, and loving every moment.
Harriet stepped back, her hands resting on her hips as she looked me up and down.

I was beaming behind my bandit mask. This was simply too much fun.

“Now,” Harriet continued, her voice returning to her usual artistic purr, “let us see who’s behind this,.. ridiculous disguise shall we?”

She let the question hang in the air, as though she truly couldn’t guess the identity of the mysterious portly intruder.

She yanked off my hat with a suitably theatrical flourish.

Playing along I shook my unruly curls free, letting the inky black tresses fall haphazardly over my shoulders.

"Tsk! Well, whoever you are, it appears you don't own a hairbrush,.. " She mused "I wonder what the mask will reveal..."

She then reached for the bandanna, lowering it slowly, revealing my flushed and embarrassed face. I didn’t even try to hide my beaming grin.
My heart raced in my chest as her eyes met mine, her expression one of mock surprise.

“Samantha Ward, as I live and breathe!" she said, with feigned disbelief.

I couldn’t help but chuckle, even though I was supposed to be playing the role of the chastened pupil.

Harriet raised an eyebrow as she studied me. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

I blinked up at her innocently, struggling to keep the teasing smile off my face.

"Sorry Miss. I was hungry, Miss."

She narrowed her eyes, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Hungry, you say?” she repeated, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Hm, well, then, perhaps you would welcome something to eat,”

Harriet’s grin grew wider. Without missing a beat, she reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out an expensive looking silk handkerchief.

I watched as she balled up the purple cloth - her intention abundantly clear.

I blinked, pretending to look confused.

"Wait. What are you?-" but before I could finish lodging my protest, she proceeded to stuff the handkerchief into my mouth.

"Mmph!"

"And don't even think about spitting it out" She warned

Truthfully, the thought had never even entered my mind, but for the sake of the scene I squirmed in my ropes and made muffled protests, glaring at her playfully.

“Up past curfew and prowling the halls in the dead of night" She said, leaning close to my ear. “The question is, do we call the constable… or shall I deal with you myself?”

I shot her a look, trying my best to look angry and defiant — chin high, eyes narrowed — though the effect was somewhat ruined by my pink fluffy slippers and the polka-dot pajamas peeking out from under my trench coat.
Of course, I was the furthest thing from indignant. This was my every fantasy made real.

I let out an exaggerated, plea for clemency

“Very well,” she continued, “What do you think your punishment should be, hmm?” she asked, tantalisingly.

I pretended to think for a moment, closing my eyes as if I were weighing up my options, but in reality we both knew full well what I (desperately) wanted my sanction to be.

"M Mmm-png!"

“Speak up,” she teased, cupping her hand to her ear “"It's so hard to understand you with that gag in your mouth. Speak slower, and try to e-nun-ci-ate.”

“A sp-mph-king!”” I managed, the word still hopelessly garbled.

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, dear, did you say 'a spanking'?”

I nodded vigorously, blushing at my lack of discretion.

Harriet laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the hallway. “My, my. How delightfully traditional of you.”

She pretended to ponder. “Well, I suppose I could consider it…"

I was almost giddy at how well all this was playing out, but feigned to appear contrite.

"Very well, a spanking it is"

('Hurrah!' I thought to myself)

"But first, you’ll need to go upstairs and get changed into your uniform,..”

"Yes, of course. Right away Miss" I agreed lustily as she pulled the cloth gag out of my mouth,

I could hardly contain my excitement as she untied the ropes from my wrists.
"Chop! Chop!" Harriet, barked "Don't dawdle girl!"

Well, suffice to say, I didn't need to be told twice, however, ever the dutiful pupil I took a moment to put the coil of rope back in the draw and deposit the, now sodden, handkerchief in the laundry basket - earning myself a "Good girl" from Harriet in the process.

As I rushed up the stairs I heard Harriet call up after me
"And Samantha-"

"Yes Ma'am"

"Be sure to leave your legs uncovered"

Back home in the real world, I’d sooner walk barefoot across a field of Lego bricks than expose my tree trunk thighs to the world - but if the game called for bare legs, then who was I to argue.

"Yes, Ma'am" I called back gleefully.

[RopeBunny]

Didn't realise you'd picked this back up

Pleased though, to find two new chapters. Enjoyable to read, love the brief moments out character, the aunt checking on Samantha, on her willingness. Adds a touch of realism.

Pleased to see Vee, still part of the story.

[Beaumains]

I am not sure I like that Harriet broke character as Sam still naively believed part of the performance. Still, if a spanking is involved, it might be better to have more explicit consent. Tuanks for continuing this masterpiece.

[Wheezy]

I was not expecting to be this invested in this story, it's by far one of the best I've seen on here. Keep up the excellent work!

[Stiletto Amore]

Didn't realise you'd picked this back up

Pleased though, to find two new chapters. Enjoyable to read, love the brief moments out character, the aunt checking on Samantha, on her willingness. Adds a touch of realism.

Pleased to see Vee, still part of the story.

Thanks so much! I’m really glad you enjoyed the new chapters — picking the story back up has been great fun. I’m especially pleased you liked the little out-of-character moments with Harriet.
I love Vee too!
Thanks for sticking with it and for the lovely encouragement!

[Stiletto Amore]

I am not sure I like that Harriet broke character as Sam still naively believed part of the performance. Still, if a spanking is involved, it might be better to have more explicit consent. Tuanks for continuing this masterpiece.

Thank you for the feedback — I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts.
I understand what you mean about the moment Harriet breaks character, I guess it's hard to gain informed consent without breaking the spell a little.
Really glad you’re enjoying the story overall, and I’m super grateful for your kind words and for sticking with it for so long!

[Stiletto Amore]

I was not expecting to be this invested in this story, it's by far one of the best I've seen on here. Keep up the excellent work!

Thank you so much — that really means a lot! I never expected people to get quite this invested either, so hearing that has honestly made my day. I’m thrilled you’re enjoying the story and I really appreciate the encouragement.

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Twelve – The Lesson

I have never dressed quite so fast in my entire life. It was as if a starting gun had gone off inside my head the moment Harriet told me to run upstairs and change - indeed I was already half way out of my trench coat before I'd even made it to the bedroom door.
Once inside I shed my pyjamas and fluffy slippers with indecent haste, before struggling into a starched white blouse and pleated grey skirt.
In my mind, a yellow school bus idled at the curb, and I was in mortal danger of missing it.

After struggling to fasten my collar, excitement having robbed me of the most basic of motor functions, I grabbed the first necktie I could see - a yellow and green striped number - and began hurriedly knotting it in place.
I decided to forgo my usual woollen tights, settling for a pair of white ankle socks. After all, Harriet had very specifically requested bare legs and if she wanted to appraise the pale acreage of my ample thighs, well, who was I to stand in her way?
I checked my reflection in the mirror.
Breathless, hair rumpled, tie askew, cheeks glowing pink with anticipation - I looked perfect for the role of a frantic, guilt-ridden pupil running late for detention.
It was the part I was born to play, baby!

Of course my natural instinct was to scamper down the stairs like some obedient puppy eager to begin behaviour training, but that simply would not do.
The role called for contrition and so contrition was what I was going to portray.
With my head held high and my hands clasped tightly behind my back I began to walk, maintaining a glacial pace throughout the short journey.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, I arrived at the door to the library.
Savouring the moment I waited as long as I dared before raising my fist to knock.
However, before I could deliver the first blow, a booming, operatic voice from within called out.
"Who goes there?"

"It's just me Miss," I stammered pathetically

“Who’s ‘Me, Miss’?”

“Sorry, Miss—Ma’am—it’s Samantha…”

"Ward?"

“Yes, your Ladyship… er, Miss… Ma’am…”

"Well - I suppose you better come in and explain yourself,"

"Yes Miss, thank you Miss"

Breathlessly I opened the door and stepped inside.

Emerging into the library, my breath caught in my throat. There, at the centre of the room in a high-backed leather chair was Great Aunt Harriet - dressed once again in her black academic robes.
However, that was not all - somehow she had also found time for a full costume change that fully embraced her role as the demon headmistress.
The outfit she had chosen was a remarkable study in contrasts - or a game of two halves as my Father would insist on describing it.
Harriet had partnered a prim, maroon coloured pussy-bow blouse, the ribbon tied with impeccable precision beneath her throat, with a black leather skirt, fishnet stockings and a pair of impossibly high heels.
Truth be told, she looked like every forbidden English teacher fantasy that I had ever had, condensed into one devastating vision.
It felt like I had won the lottery.

Harriet's eyes, already gleaming with mischief, lifted from the ledger she had been pretending to consult, and I could feel the full force of her gaze as it swept over me.
“And what, pray tell,” she began, tilting her head with a faintly imperious smirk, “has caused you to be summoned to the headmistress’s study in the dead of night, Miss Ward?”

I swallowed, my pulse spiking as I desperately tried to keep my composure.
"Mr Green sent me.. to be spanked" I explained

"Well, I'm sure he had a very good reason for doing so. Would you care to enlighten me as to what you did wrong?"

"I broke curfew Miss" I explained, my eyes lowered respectfully.

"Hmm, and what exactly were you doing when you were caught roaming the school halls in the middle of the night?"

It was confession time.
I pretended to swallow.
"I was trying to rustle up a late night snack"

My Great Aunt let out a low, exaggerated sigh, as though I had committed the gravest of transgressions.
"A midnight raid on the school larder?! I would have expected better from a school prefect," She tutted, not bothering to hide her disappointment. "Have you anything to offer in your defence?"

"Only that, strictly speaking, I didn't actually take anything.."

"Pah! A mere technicality - it sounds like you were seconds away from having your fingers in the cookie jar,"

"Mmm... cookie jar" I drooled causing Harriet to stifle a laugh.
After quickly composing herself once more Harriet handed down my sentence. It was to be 6 of the best!
Somehow I stopped myself from punching the air!
Instead I watched in silent rapture as Harriet slowly unfurled herself from her throne and slinked her way towards me.
“Stop slouching" Harriet commanded, circling me like a cat playing with its food.

“Stand up straight”

I jolted instinctively upright, shoulders back, spine ramrod-straight, hands clasped tightly behind me.
“Chin up.”

I obeyed, lifting my face to meet her eyes at last.
She studied me for a long moment, then tutted softly.

“Your tie is crooked,” she declared. “Did you get dressed in the dark?"

Before I could think of a suitably witty rejoinder, she had seized the ends of my school necktie. An involuntary gasp left me as the knot was pulled tight, drawing the fabric snug against my throat.
Her fingers lingered at the collar.
Our faces were now inches apart.
I could feel heat flooding my cheeks under her close scrutiny.

"There!" She said, as she straightened up the knot "Much better - don't you think?"

I nodded but said nothing - I no longer had the power of speech.
My mouth was suddenly dry - like I’d spent the last hour chewing on a sponge.

"Are you okay Samantha, you appear somewhat… flushed,” she teased.

"I - I er yes! I mean - that is to say, I'm fine. What! ‐-- Golly, is it hot in here?!" I replied, the words spilling incoherently from my lips like a flustered Bertie Wooster.

At this point, a visibly amused Harriet had to turn away from me lest I see her break character by corpsing.

"Are you okay Miss- Ma'am?" I asked, affecting a genuinely concerned tone even as Harriet's shaking shoulders betrayed her.

"Yes - Samantha " She replied as she fought to regain her composure "I am very well. But, I think we should probably get started with the punishment - don't you?"

"Oh, rather!" I replied, a touch too eagerly
Great Aunt Harriet tried and failed to conceal her smirk at my foppish enthusiasm

"So. Where do you want me?"

Harriet didn't reply, but simply lowered herself back into the chair.

“Assume the position,” Harriet said, patting her lap with an imperious gesture.

Well, suffice to say, I didn't need to be told twice and all but skipped across the room to drape myself over the legs of my fearsome Great Aunt.
"My, my, you're an eager young thing, aren't you?" She said, lifting my skirt revealing my oversized posterior to the world.

"I’m sure I don’t know what you mean Miss," I assured her, in a tone that suggested I was offended by the very suggestion that I could have been enjoying myself.
Why, wherever could she have got such an idea?

"Well, let's see if this dampens your zeal for capital punishment," She said, as she drew back her arm and delivered an open hand slap to my ample backside.

The first strike landed with a sharp crack sending a jolt of pain across my rear, which quickly transformed into a warm, lingering throb of pleasure.
Somehow it exceeded even my lofty ambitions.
Reader, I had to bite my lip to prevent myself howling in delight.

“That’s one” Harriet announced in a calm measured voice that sounded like she was teaching numbers on Sesame Street
I found myself gripping the chair legs as I braced myself for the next stroke.

The second blow, which landed somewhere high on my thigh was sharp, but in no way unpleasant.
“Two Ah! Ah! Ah!”
I bit the back of my hand to stop myself from laughing and ruining the vibe.

The subsequent smack sent shivers through me, a mixture of pain and excitement that had me squirming against her lap.
“Stop wriggling” Harriet chided

“Yes Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am” I apologised, concentrating on remaining as still as possible.

“Three. We’re at the halfway point” Harriet announced cheerily.
I was caught between being proud at having avoided embarrassment, and disappointed that the ordeal was almost over.

The fourth blow caught me with a rippling crack across my bottom.
It was neat, and precise - with no wasted motion.
Harriet, I suspect, was a formidable tennis player.

“We’ve reached number Four”
It took every inch of my willpower not to cry out when the fifth blow landed on the dead centre of my buttocks.

Number five landed like a crack from a whip, sending a quiver that shot to my knees and travelled quickly down to my thighs.
By now my cheeks (both sets) were positively glowing

“Last one” Harriet teased
After an agonising few moments of suspense, Harriet’s hand finally struck her final blow, catching me deep across the lower part of my posterior.

“There. All done,” she said briskly.
I remained bent over Harriet’s lap, unsure if my legs would still work.

“You may stand!” She commanded

I rose slowly, pretending to fight back tears of shame and embarrassment whilst schooling my face into something approaching contrite composure.
My pulse was still racing — feeling a throbbing ache where the smacks had landed.
It was a warm and rather wonderful sensation.

Harriet studied me with a satisfied tilt of her head, clearly enjoying the effect she’d achieved.
“Thank you miss” I said, meaning it.

“You’re very welcome, dear,” she replied kindly. “Now off to bed with you.”

I gave a textbook nod.
“Yes, Miss.” I said before performing a tiny curtsy.

“Oh — and Samantha?”
I looked back, desperately hoping there was going to be an encore.

“If I catch you out of bed again before morning,” she said slowly, drawing every ounce of melodrama from the words, wagging her perfectly manicured finger, “I shall have no choice but to tie you to your bed.”

I froze on the spot.
Heat rushed to my face, my ears lit up like a lighthouse,
Rather unhelpfully, my brain had picked this particular moment to perform a full blown factory reset.
Harriet observed my obvious discomfort with interest - much like a scientist studying the behaviour of a lab rat.
Had I been capable I would have loved to ask her if she had enough rope. Where it was kept? And if I could run and fetch it for her.
But instead I assured her “I’ll be good Miss”

Harriet gave a pleased little hum at my show of obedience.
“Delighted to hear it. Sleep well Samantha.”

I retreated from the library with measured steps, closing the door carefully behind me.

What could tomorrow possibly have to top this? I thought to myself as I slowly, and somewhat gingerly, climbed the stairs to bed.