A Model Recruit
Maria was warm and relaxed, her slim form draped across his lap. Golden tresses spilled across the quill, her body was gently curved, her head resting comfortably on her arms. She closed her eyes. Her flimsy little nightie had ridden up around her waist. He slipped his fingers underneath the pink satin knickers and lowered them all the way to her ankles; resting one hand across the small of her back, with his other he caressed the firm feminine pinkness of her bottom.
'Tell me more about the new girl, Maria,' he asked quietly. Maria smiled, opened her eyes and turned her head towards him. Her legs parted a little, to reveal blonde curls to his intimate gaze.
'Her name is Jane. She joined us about six weeks ago, and like all of them, she desperately wants to become a top model.' Maria fell a finger moving firmly, deeply.
'Parents?' He used both hands to push back her nightie further, baring her back, and freeing her breasts.
'She's lived in a bed-sit since leaving school. Hasn't seen them for over a year.' Gracefully, Maria slipped off his knee. Her bare feet touched the bedroom carpet, her little knickers fell to the floor. As she crossed to the dressing table, the little triangle of flimsy satin was left discarded on the white fur rug. She bent again to open the lower drawer, the firm lower curves of her bottom again revealed to his gaze. Then she returned to the bed and handed him the photograph.
'About seventeen?' The girl in the photograph was posed very fetchingly in teeshirt and shorts. Maria nodded. 'Just eighteen, last month.' The girl was pretty, blonde and suntanned. He contemplated her bottom.
'What do you think?'
'A firm young thing,' he commented, more to himself than to Maria. 'Will she make a good model?' Maria assured him that Jane had everything it takes. 'Except the concentration,' she added. 'A caning would be too harsh at the moment, though,' she raised a note of caution. 'I doubt whether her bottom's even felt the palm of a hand across it.'
'A pity,' thought Marcus, who was imagining quite clearly the effect of a thin whippy cane across such nicely rounded bottom cheeks. "I'll exercise moderation' he promised. 'Shall we say tomorrow at nine?'
It was agreed. Maria returned the photograph to the drawer. 'Up on the bed,' Marcus told her. Maria obeyed, and knew again to lie face down. This time her nightie rose above her shoulders. He knelt between her open legs and moved his hands beneath her, beneath her warm breasts and between the gently perfumed skin and the soft downy quilt. As he entered her, he whispered to her: 'Moderation at first, as always... and after all, you'll be here to make sure, won't you?'
* * * *
Young Jane felt well prepared for the audition arranged by Maria Morgan's Agency. Knowing she would be expected to wear a number of outfits, she wore a loose-fitting high-necked dress, very short so as to show off her long legs, with a wide bell to emphasise her full hips. She had taken care to look really good. There was but one 'chink in her armour'; as usual, she was late.
Maria took her coat and led the teenager into the lounge. The girl smiled nervously but politely at the distinguished looking man who seemed so relaxed.
'Jane. This is Mr Marcus Knapton. He is a very important person in marketing and promotion.'
Marcus stood up and shook her by the hand. She was surprised by the firmness of the handshake. Maria closed the door, and the trio sat down.
'Now, Jane. We're here tonight to discuss your future career in modelling. There's no doubting that you're a very attractive girl, so for your own benefit we're going to be quite candid and frank with you.' Young Jane smiled and nodded, hoping her nervousness didn't show too much. 'Shall... shall I show you some of the clothes I've brought?' she suggested.
Marcus shook his head. 'For the moment, you're fine as you are, young lady. Before we talk about clothes, we must talk about you.' For some reason, Jane was beginning to feel uneasy. 'Would you please stand over there, between us, Jane... That's right... Now, would you kindly raise your arms right up above your head.' Jane couldn't quite figure out why he wanted her to pose in such a manner, but she did as she was told. She stretched up high, hoping that the man would be noting her long sun-tanned legs.
Marcus certainly noticed her legs; but he was also paying particular attention to the tight little panties now revealed, and the enticing curves of a shapely, curvy, tantalising teenage bottom.
'Jane, you were late this evening. Even though this meeting could be the turning point of your career, you were late. Miss Morgan tells me you're always late.'
Jane dropped her arms in surprise. She tried to think of a sensible answer. Marcus continued. 'It doesn't matter how beautiful you are, or how well you model. In this business time is money, and if you're late for an engagement, everyone involved will waste their time and their investment.'
Jane could see that Maria was also shaking her head. 'I'm sorry Jane. There's no way I could commend you to any of my clients at the moment. I have a good reputation, and I want to keep it.'
Jane could see their point. She had no excuse. 'Look. I'm sorry, Miss Morgan. It really won't happen again, I promise.' She really did feel sorry; she had had her hopes raised high by receiving the invitation to meet Mr Knapton and now she was feeling real regret at having wasted the opportunity.
'No. Mr Knapton is quite right, Jane. You'd better be going. Tomorrow I'll give you the addresses of a few other agencies in the area. Perhaps they'll take you on.'
Young Jane was close to tears. She opened her pretty mouth to ask for one more chance, but Miss Morgan was already offering her her coat. She turned to the man. 'Look. Please. Anyone can change, you know.' Marcus smiled at her, and once again shook his head. 'But what can anyone do to guarantee that you can and will change?' he asked.
Next it seemed as though Miss Morgan had taken control of the situation. Jane was told to sit down. She heard the woman suggest that perhaps there was another way.
'You have just one last chance. If you co-operate with us right now, I think there's a possibility of slopping the rot. But if you question our judgement and experience then you can walk out, right now, and not come back.'
Jane agreed. At that precise moment she knew she would agree to anything. She was totally committed to modelling, she told them, and she'd be happy to take their advice.
It wasn't purely advice that Marcus Knapton had on offer.
Jane sat back on the plushness of the settee. She smiled as sweetly as she could manage at her peers, and found that the man returned her smile.
'Stand up again, please, Jane. And put your hands on your head.' Marcus was now sitting up, alert and in control. 'Punctuality is something you should have learned long ago, young lady. When I was at school, it was beaten into you,' he emphasised the word 'beaten'; and young Jane had noticed. The man ran his eyes from her bottom to her face, and back to her bottom again.
Jane felt her cheeks burning. Thoughts were racing through her head. 'I can walk out, right now.' She assured herself; but she stayed, and waited for this powerful man to make the next move.
She felt almost hypnotised by the man's compelling presence. She allowed herself to be led across to the settee; she felt herself being lifted across his knee; she fell firm dry hands taking her little panties down, one hand pressing down on her back, holding her helplessly in position. Now he had taken her panties right off, and he was relieving her of her little ankle socks. Then firm arms encircled her waist, her belt was being removed, and her dress was being rucked up well above her waist. She could imagine his burning, penetrating gaze, drinking in her naked body, from her manicured toes to her shoulders.
She gasped as the first smack landed across her bottom. It hadn't hurt, but it had surprised her, and it was a new experience for her. She gasped again as another smack fell, and then another. Marcus took his time. He slapped hard, and he slapped with a positive firmness. The bottom before him turned a brighter shade of pink, and as each smack landed across those firm round cheeks, the girl uttered little squeals of alarm. The alarm turned to near-panic as the tanning continued, the girl contorting her body into lewd and revealing postures as she attempted to negate in some small way the burning pain that was spreading its stinging fingers across every part of her bottom.
Real tears were forming. Jane began to sob; her body felt limp against the man's firm build. The struggling stopped. She lay, totally helpless, totally vulnerable, as the punishment continued –
* * * *
The following afternoon Jane again reported to Miss Morgan's apartment. Never had she felt so nervous. She could only remember vaguely, the taxi journey home; the paper hankies attempting to disguise the mascara-stained tracks of her tears; she had tried lo rub some handcream into her smarting bottom, but somehow it hadn't helped.
At least today she was on time. She had caught an early bus, had even walked around the neighbourhood until the time was right to ring the doorbell.
The ever-smiling Miss Morgan opened the door, and Jane, as anxious as ever, was invited inside. 'You can change in the bedroom, Jane. We'll have the bikini first.' The teenager felt as though she had been stabbed through the heart. 'Oh God. The bikini. I've forgotten the damned bikini.' Miss Morgan seemed to show no obvious annoyance as she falteringly explained. 'Well, teeshirt and panties, then, Jane, and hurry up. Remember, time is money.'
Jane hastily stripped down to her bra and panties, slipped a plain white teeshirt over her head, and with as much confidence as she could muster, returned to the lounge. Mr Knapton was there, of course, and a young photographer, busying himself with exposure meters and the like.
'It's over to you, then, Paul,' said Maria and the photographer assumed command. Both Maria and Marcus watched carefully as the photo-session commenced. They said nothing until Paul announced that he had finished. By that time, Jane had worked her way through jeans and shorts, camisoles and blouses, in fact virtually her entire portable wardrobe.
The photographer packed up and left. 'Another engagement at teatime' he explained, and promised the contact-prints would be on Maria's desk in the morning.
Marcus stood up, walked to the window and lifted the blind. He watched the photographer load his tripod and case into the hatchback. 'So you forgot the bikini?' Jane was nodding. 'Speak up, girl. You forgot your bikini?' Jane said 'yes'. She said she was sorry. She knew it was hopeless.
He turned to face her. She looked a delight, dressed in just a pretty sleeveless top and matching pink knickers.
'Go into the bedroom. Take your knickers off, and kneel up on the bed.' Already in tears, Jane scampered across the lounge and closed the door behind her. Maria had crossed to the bookshelf and had carefully removed a thin whippy cane from the top shelf. She handed it to Marcus. They exchanged smiles. 'Moderation was yesterday, Marcus' she whispered.
* * * *
'I do like girls who have a practical streak to their character' commented Marcus Knapton. Jane, still dressed in just her sleeveless pink top, had just served them with afternoon tea. In bare feet, bare legs and bare bottom, she had stood in the kitchen, made the tea, and carried it nervously into the lounge; and now she stood, hands on head in the corner of the room, facing the floral-patterned wallpaper.
Maria looked again at the six red lines still imprinted across the fullness of the teenager's bottom. Jane had made quite a fuss in the bedroom, but then, most girls did during their first caning; and if the girl thought that today's lesson was over, she was about to receive yet another rather painful surprise.
She stood up and crossed once again to the tall oak bookcase, not for the cane this time, but an old wooden-backed hairbrush. She ran her fingers around its smooth contours. She returned to the settee, placing the brush behind a conveniently-placed cushion.
'Jane, would you come over here, please,' she asked. The teenager, still somewhat sniffly, came across to stand in front of them. The intimacy of their gaze again made her face burn. She crossed her hands in front of her neat blonde bush.
'Mr Knapton has punished you for your appalling and unprofessional behaviour. Now it's my turn to discipline you for yet again letting down the reputation of my agency.'
Jane nearly burst into tears again, the angry burning across her bottom having only just subsided into a dull painful throb. A hand-smacking across the cane-marks would be frightful, she thought, but nothing could be as terrible as that biting cane she had endured.
'Across my knee, young lady. Let your legs go over the arm of the settee.' Maria waited as the girl wriggled uneasily into position. Her legs were dangling in mid-air, her bottom felt large and vulnerable across Miss Morgan's lap; and she found her face resting close to Mr Knapton's leg. She closed her eyes. She wished the afternoon would end; but in a way, she felt warm and secure across the lap of this strong and beautiful woman. Jane felt Miss Morgan's hands stroke her punished bottom. Perhaps a spanking from her wouldn't be that bad.
Then the hands stopped their stroking. Jane waited. 'Twelve is the number to think about, right now, Jane,' she heard Miss Morgan say. 'You can start counting at twelve, and when you get to one, you can get up and go home.'
The woman reached behind her, and found the smooth coldness of the hairbrush. She raised it high; 'Say 'twelve', please, Jane.' There was silence for a moment, and then a faint, little-girl voice whispered back; 'Twelve.'
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