Manipulation - photo story

Photo story from Janus 104.

Manipulation


'I HAVE arranged something a little bit special for our special day,' said Anneke.

Roger Storing almost smiled, and his frosted heart began to melt. This beautiful woman was the only person in the world who had this effect on him.

'For you are, you know, a very special person,' continued the seductive tones. 'For you, dear Roger, nothing is too good...'

Like many of the educated foreigners that Roger Storing had met Anneke spoke almost too perfect English. Her voice reminded him of one of those heroines he had seen in 1930s British movies, and it was impossible not to reciprocate in the same style.

Each year it was Anneke's pleasure to celebrate the date of their first meeting. Her desire to delight this somewhat remote and loveless man was something which Storing himself found difficulty in understanding – although now that the day and moment had come he gave himself up to the mysterious excitement her near presence always induced in him. 'Ah, bottom-sweet siren,' whispered his thoughts. 'Your ice-blue eyes and sinuous sin-inspiring form are melting me and making me, almost, your slave...'


'Lita!' Her voice rang imperiously out. 'In here at once, girl!' They sat side by side oh his antique sofa, Anneke's stern, beautiful face looking haughtily dominant, her glorious figure clad in leather micro-pants, fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots.

When a shapely girl scarcely older than 18 stepped, completely naked, into the room, Roger gasped. She was a peach, lushly moulded, duskily Italianate, a joy to behold.


'Let us look at you!' snapped Anneke. 'Turn around.' Obligingly the young woman turned, giving Storing an eyeful of full proud breasts and bare rounded rumps which his palms itched to smack. He was not to know that the girl had come here gladly at his glacial beauty's request, nor that Lita's girlish worship of the other's worldly sophistication and promise of delicious decadence put her in Anneke's sweetly perfumed power as completely as was he.

'Well, darling, what do you think?'

'She's... admirable,' murmured Storing, almost salivating. Habitually a lonely man, this double dose of prime female pulchritude at such close quarters made him gasp, and he felt a stiffening of not only his sinews as his libido began to stir after its long lay-off. His mouth was dry.


'You may serve us now,' Anneke said with an imperious tilt of her perfect chin. The girl turned, allowing him another pleasure-dazed stare at her globulous arse-cheeks, marched off and returned with a low footstool which she placed on the floor before them with a deeply submissive stoop. He watched her ripe breasts swinging free, and licked his lips.

'I do believe your mouth is getting a little dry, darling Roger,' purred Anneke huskily, a wicked smile playing on those lips he had never yet dared to kiss. 'Never mind, our maid will bring a remedy.' She turned lo Lita, who stood submissively wailing. 'Quickly, girl!' said Anneke with some asperity. 'You know perfectly well what to do. Jump lo it!'


Moments later Lita returned with a tray bearing a bottle of champagne and Russian caviare on tiny biscuits. The girl herself had a slightly uncertain look – for, although her admired friend and now 'mistress' had warned her to be ready for absolutely anything on this very special afternoon, the anticipation of precisely what that something might be was giving Lita little thrilly tingles in her tummy.

Once more she bent low, depositing the tray before them. Then, as instructed, she presented the bottle for the man's approval. Managing to drag his gaze from the girl's lushly swinging breasts, Storing noted that the brand was his favourite. He took the bottle, which was satisfactorily chill. Then, for the first time, he frowned.


'Never, never,' he said to the girl, glaring censoriously into her dark, troubled eyes, 'serve champagne with the vendor's label still attached!' He removed the offending tag and handed it disdainfully to her, smelling her scented flesh and struggling for self-control.

'I'm sorry, sir,' she said meekly, happy to play her part and allow the exciting and unpredictable situation to develop.


Anneke glared at the girl as she turned her delightful bottom on them and walked away. But Storing was enchanted by the way this extraordinary treat was developing.

'Anneke, my dear,' he began. 'This is so delightful, I could kiss you!'

Such a passionate pronouncement was rare for Roger Storing. 'Then you should do so, Roger,' she smiled, tilling her cheek towards him. 'Today is your day, my darling – you must do whatever you wish.'


Basking in her perfume, Storing kissed the offered cheek. Then, heart drumming and hand trembling just a little, he poured the champagne. Their communion was unique, quiet yet deep, fraught with ecstatic possibilities. They sipped, legs touching, nibbled the ludicrously expensive savoury snacks, the salty tang tingling on their tongues. He loved to watch her eat, voyeuristic, noting the sensitivity of those strong, slender fingers, and how her lips caressed the caviare before engorging.

'Darling...' she breathed, blue eyes wide-bright on his. 'I'm beginning to feel most terribly erotic.' A pause. 'Aren't you?'

Storing, stirring harder, shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat, then drank deeper of the nectar. The approach of a smile distorted his usually sombre countenance. 'I confess to feeling... a little restless in certain respects, undoubtedly, my dear.'

Anneke fixed him with those eyes, resting a hand on his thigh. 'Wouldn't you just adore it if I were to give those wicked little buttocks of hers a warming?'

Storing swallowed hard, and his face brightened even more. 'Oh, ah... undeniably, my sweet.'

'She is such a lackadaisical thing, and I'm itching to have a go at that naughty bottom as much as you, dear Roger, so clearly are.'

He laughed out loud – a rare sound. 'I'm sure we can find a reason,' she went on, giving him a conspiratorial smirk.

'LITA!' Anneke's voice rang out with a shrill of outrage. The girl scuttled back in and stood there, trembling.

'Yes, M-Mistress?'

'This glass!' She pointed an offended finger. 'It's dirty!'

'I-I can't see anything wrong,' said the seemingly bewildered girl, peering. Storing, joining in, stared at a speck of non-existent dust with a look of shocked dismay.

'How dare you answer back!' Anneke exclaimed. 'I've never heard such cheek!'


'Yes, girl!' barked Storing, warming to the theme. The girl flinched at his deeper and more ominous voice. 'Take this all away and return at once. You are to be punished for your sloppiness.'

'Bui, sir...' protested the trembling maid.

"Go! Do as the Master says!' snapped Anneke. 'And come back here immediately to be dealt with.'

Wretchedly and uncertainly, Lila took the tray from the room. An almost visible excitement seemed to arc between Roger Storing and his lovely lady, galvanising both with anticipatory thrills. 'You adorable woman. Adorable!' he found himself saying.

'Indulge yourself, dear Roger,' she laughed. 'Life should not be gloom and silence. You know how you love to spank and spank a pretty bottom, just as I do – so let us thoroughly enjoy ourselves today with this naughty little girl.'


Transported by the closest he had ever felt to joy, Storing threw inhibitions to the winds and embraced this wondrous female, kissing and nuzzling her cheek, which made her laugh the more. 'Really, sir,' she teased. 'You're perfectly uncontrollable today – what am I to do with you?'

In came the naked maid, and their high spirits were muted as a sombre silence fell.

'Position her for me please, darling,' came Anneke's terse command. A riding-switch had appeared in her hand. The girl gave a cry.

'No, ma'am!'


Storing was on his feet. 'Kneel on the stool and bend forward,' he growled, dizzy with pleasure. The girl trembled. 'Down, girl – at once!'

As Lita tremulously knelt, Storing eased her sumptuous satin-skinned body forward so that her elbows rested on the sofa and her luscious bottom was perked up invitingly. 'Mmmm, divinely placed, my dear,' purred Anneke, taking up a position immediately to the left of the bent-over girl. 'Perhaps the bottom a little higher.'


Lita arched her spine inwards to strain her buttocks higher. She was aware of what was about to happen. Anneke had hinted at this when they made their agreement but now – at the moment of truth – her feelings were like nothing she had ever imagined. She felt open, vulnerable, yet darkly excited. Perhaps she was picking up something of the heady fervour of the man as he lowered himself to the sofa at her side, eyes gleaming behind his rather sinister spectacles.

Anneke contemplated the succulent target so perfectly presented. Yes, this girl was another. How was she able to sense so surely this potential submissiveness in a fellow female? She always knew. The willowy Norwegian brought the whippy shaft high, then sped it down to crack thwackingly across the waiting bottom-cheeks.


'Yowp!' Lita's body convulsed at the impact.

Whop-thwack. Again the yelp and shudder as the girl reacted to the pain which erupted within her buttocks. Storing watched, enraptured, exulting in the sight of his magnificent dominatrice warming to her task. He actually shuddered each time the whippy shaft struck hard across the upthrust, rounded target.


Thwack... Thwack... Thwack... Himself no stranger to the music of the rod, Storing's senses were assailed by myriad images: the grunting, jerking girl as the crop thwopped home, Anneke's cool-yet-fervid delivery, his own arousing manhood, the tang of femininity, of excitement, of fear. The girl's loud cries as the switch struck her naked bottom mingled with his own sighs and exclamations of pleasure. What a woman his Anneke was – if only she were his!

'No more, ma'am!' pleaded the girl – then gasped louder as the crop whizzed down again to wrap itself around the lush globes of her fiercely smarting rear. Crack!


'Up, girl! Stand up!' With a hand beneath the girl's chin, Anneke helped Lita to her feet. 'Face the Master. Head up, feel together, legs straight. I haven't finished with you yet!'

Storing leaned back on the sofa and looked up Lita's body and into her face as she stood rigidly to attention above him. In this position her buttocks were slacker and more absorbent of punishment, so when the riding-crop, driven by Anneke's fair hand, darted slickly in, it sank into the soft protuberances with a thunky thwick which made the girl shudder. Storing stared at her features in fascination as the biting pain convulsed them.


Thwick... Thwick... Thwick... Teeth set, hands clenched into fists, Lita teetered to and fro on her high-heeled shoes as the fire-hot crop bit again and again into her fleshy buttocks, distorting and rippling their rounded fullnesses with every impact. Anneke smiled with relish whilst she whipped the girl, feeling pleasurable sensations roused in her, excited flutterings loosed in belly and breast, and a keen craving to keep on punishing Lita.


All of this Roger Storing watched, staring voyeuristically up at the girl, seeing how her nude body juddered each time the crop cracked across her bottom, fascinated by the way her pretty face twisted and her mouth opened in cries and grunts as her punishment progressed. Indeed, his state of tumescence was by now potentially embarrassing, and he hoped he would not be called upon to stand up.


With a final thwack of the crop Anneke completed her part of the punishment. Lita's hands leaped to her buttocks and frantically squeezed and rubbed till the smarting abated somewhat. While Storing, almost overwhelmed by these erotic and sensuous images, removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses as if, in his all-too-evident excitement, they had steamed over.

'Now, Lita,' said Anneke, tantalisingly stroking her flanks with the tip of the crop, 'it is the Master's turn to punish you.'

'No, ma'am!'

'Quiet, girl.'

Storing put his spectacles back on, and sucked in air. 'Well, darling,' his glorious companion continued. 'What would you like to use – the cane, the strap?'

Storing licked his lips. Already aroused, he wanted to feel a warm feminine weight bearing down on his thighs. He wanted again the unique silkiness of a woman's buttocks under his palm.

'I'll spank her,' he said. 'Come forward across my knee, my girl...'


Anneke beamed with quiet pleasure as Lita complaisantly stepped forward and, with a tremulous sigh, sank forward over Storing's thighs and wriggled her hips provocatively into position. For him, the movement was highly erotic. He positioned her so that the pert young bottom was pushed up nice and high, ably assisted by his enthusiastic companion. When he pressed down on the small of her back, the girl arched it all the more, straining her bottom even higher.

Perfection! Anneke stood back and left the field to him. Storing patted the girl's buttocks so that they wobbled delightfully. Then he brought his hand down with a resonant smack, pancaking and pinkening the up-pushed mounds. A shriek was his reward. He hoisted the bottom up a little more, and spanked again.

'Yes, darling!' Anneke enthused.


He needed little encouragement. With palm a-tingle, Storing began to spank in earnest Lila's delightfully mischievous bottom, glorying in the explosive sounds of contact and the luscious wobblings of the steadily pinkening globes. Beneath his firm and energetic hand the girl's bottom bounced and rippled as she mewed and squirmed. She clenched her fists, drummed her toes on the floor.


Smack! Smack! Smack! It had been far loo long since he had spanked a naughty girlish bottom, and Storing felt himself coming alive as he continued to chastise that prime, youthful arse with lusty smacks, his pleasure heightened by the scent and sensation of Anneke pressed up close behind him, leaning over to whisper encouragement, laughing with sheer delight.


Spank-spank-SLAP-SLAP-SMACK! Lita felt the hard male palm striking fierily against her already extremely tender bottom-cheeks, and she yelped and wriggled, grinding her pelvis against the man's thighs. For a moment during the avid chastisement Storing found himself wondering if the girl could feel his arousal. Certainly Anneke seemed aware of his intensifying excitement, urging him on with honeyed whispers as the punished girl gulped, yelped, clutched frantically at his trouser-leg then drummed fists on the sofa and screeched as the resounding spanking went on.


The air seemed to sparkle with that champagne feeling of a very special occasion. Never would he forget the lush springiness of this girl's bottom under his hand as he smote it again and again, nor how her startled squeals mingled with Anneke's erotic murmurs, his mind lightened and brightened by the alcohol. His senses soared. Anneke's hand was gripping his shoulder, her perfumed breath was in his ear, while his own hand palpated the brazen naked bottom-cheeks of the wickedly naughty maid sprawled squirming across his lap.


Another thunderous smack and howl, and it was done, and one thoroughly spanked 18-year-old was helped painfully to her feet to stand squeezing energetically at her smarting rumps.

Anneke's voice rang out. 'And now get out!'


With her bottom pink and seething, their compliant maid for the afternoon walked out, reflecting that this experience had been rather more than she had bargained for. Undoubtedly though, she had pleased Anneke.


But what was this? Behind her as she limped, wincing, away, the man and the arranger of this afternoon's proceedings were looking into each other's eyes in a very special way. Furthermore, his left hand was tightly clasping Anneke's own extremely attractive bottom, clad as it was in the tightest of leather micro-shorts.

As Roger Storing squeezed that most desirable of bottoms, a liberty never before allowed to him, he felt that if his heart were to have stopped right then, he would have died content. Anneke pushed her hips towards him, permitting even greater freedom to his palm and fingers to roam the tightly-rounded contours. He could not know that her own exquisite bottom had been aching for this acknowledgement of its perfections, and wanted more now that the girl had gone. Wanted – nay, demanded.

There was a look in her eyes he had not seen before. 'Darling,' she breathed, 'I hope you will permit me to stay the night as well.'

Roger Storing's cup ranneth over...

Kitty

Story from Roue 02.

Kitty


Solly packed up for the day. He put the heavy wooden shutters up at the windows and wedged the loose one into place with a piece of wood. He unplugged the sewing machines and pulled the black-out curtain across the interior door. On the way upstairs he passed Mrs Evans, who rented the first floor flat from him.

'I hear they copped it in Devonshire Street last night,' she said in her rather too-loud voice.

Solly nodded, the sadness on his face an almost permanent fixture these days. 'Getting too close for comfort, isn't it?' he said mournfully. 'You off now then?'

'Yes. And if there's another raid tonight –'

'Yes, I know. She'll be welcome, of course, don't worry my dear. I'll take care of her.'

Mrs Evans touched his arm briefly, kissing him lightly on the cheek, then checked in her handbag for her key and went out, pulling the curtain across the door behind her though it wasn't yet dark.

Solly went up to his top floor rooms and set about making tea, then he sat by his window and gazed out across the rooftops of Whitechapel, and even from his restricted vantage point the extent of the damage the bombs had done in the last few weeks was painfully apparent. He watched the balloons floating like bulbous pigs over the docks and all up and down the river, until it began to get dark. Occasionally he heard the sound of Kitty moving about downstairs. Her voice from behind him took him by surprise.

'Hello,' she said.

Solly turned in his chair and saw her in the doorway. She looked as pretty as ever, her hair permed in wavy curls, her dress smart and tight at the waist.

'Can I come in?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Want the light on?'

'No, not specially. Do you?'

'Yes, I've got something to show you.'

'Well, we'll have to draw the curtains then.' He stirred in his chair, but she walked over and reached up for the curtains, her small breasts outlined against the light from the window as she stretched. The heavy curtains swooshed together, and he heard her go over to the door again.

She clicked the light on, and stood there as if she were the keeper of some considerable secret. He knew her well enough to be sure that she was going to tease again. She wanted him to ask her.

'Well now,' he said, 'what, could it be that you would want to show me?'

He looked her up and down, and his tailor's eye quickly lighted upon the one thing that was out of place. She was wearing silk stockings, in these times, and it stood out a mile.

She followed his eyes and saw that he'd discovered her secret.

'Want to see?' she asked, pretending to be demure, yet at the same time managing to excite him simply by her words.

Solly took his time answering, not wanting to seem too eager.

'Well, I s'pose you're going to show me anyway, aren't you?'

'Yes.' She pulled out a chair from under the table and stepped up onto it. Her dress came to just below her knees. Her face seemed to be alight with excitement. Little by little, and with an expression of girlish devilment, she slipped the full skirt of her dress slowly up her legs, the light shining on the sheer silk, and then, impishly, she reached the level of the tops of her stockings and stopped.

'D'you think I look nice?' she asked, sweetly innocent.

'Delightful,' said Solly.

She smiled, obviously pleased, and treated him to another inch or so. The tops of her thighs looked soft and succulently smooth.

'Girls ought to look nice, don't you think?' she prompted.

'Of course, my dear.'

The edge of the dress crept upwards again.

'But they have to have nice clothes to look nice.'

Solly followed the slant of her conversation well enough. The slightest suggestion of pink peeped teasingly out between the very tops of her legs.

'If I could have nice clothes –' She smiled again, not quite so innocently.

'Where did you get the stockings?' enquired Solly conversationally.

Kitty's pretty lips took on the faintest suspicion of a pout. 'I'm not sure I should tell you. You might not approve.'

Solly raised an eyebrow.

'Well actually a very nice boy gave them to me. A soldier.'

'And what did you give him?'

Kitty smiled sweetly again, evading the question by not answering.

'Does your mum know?'

'Heavens, no.'

Solly permitted himself another teasing smile.

'What're you grinning at?' demanded Kitty, lowering the dress an inch.

'Well I was just thinking what your mum would say if she found out.'

Kitty dropped her dress altogether.

'You wouldn't tell her would you? I mean, you wouldn't split on me?'

Solly steepled his fingers in front of him, his elbows on the arms of his chair.

'Depends,' he said.

'Depends on what?' She sounded a tiny bit worried.

'On this, and that.' It was his turn to tease.

'What does that mean?'

'Nothing,' Solly said mildly.

Kitty looked down at him suspiciously, until she had to let the cheeky grin spread over her face.

Solly knew that Kitty thought she'd worked it out. No more need be said; it was as good a point as any to terminate the conversation. Only somehow he didn't think Kitty had quite got it right.

* * *

The warning sounded a little after ten o'clock. Without any particular haste Solly went around the flat opening doors and windows, which was supposed to let the blast through, then he went downstairs and waited for Kitty who was filling a flask in case the raid went on all night.

At last she appeared, and as they went together down the stairs the far-off drone of aero-engines hurried their descent to the cellar.

They sat on reasonably comfortable though makeshift beds, the naked electric light failing to coarsen Kitty's youthful features despite its harshness. After a while the tension eased, there having been not the slightest sound of bombing so far.

'Probably cloudy,' said Solly. 'Can't find anything to bomb.'

'Yes.' Kitty's eyes fixed on his, the faint, impudent smile flickering again.

Solly thought he could read her mind, but refused to be drawn. Instead he waited for her to make the first move, which he knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

Kitty poured tea from the flask and sweetened it with saccharine. When they'd finished it she stood up unexpectedly and stretched theatrically.

'Looks like it'll be a long one,' she said. 'Might as well get some sleep, don't you think?'

Solly nodded. 'You can if you like. I think I'll give it a bit longer.'

'Suit yourself.' She eyed him innocently. 'I'll have to undress – if you don't mind.'

Solly didn't mind. He didn't offer to switch the light out either.

Kitty took off her precious stockings first. Then her dress and her slip. She made no attempt to conceal herself from his gaze. The pink, filmy knickers clung to her full hips, although not tightly, leaving room for the weight of her buttocks to wobble faintly as she moved, the material almost transparent and quite failing to hide the darkness of her pubic hair in front. Her legs were long and slender, the thighs firm and pleasantly smooth and soft-looking.

Solly watched, fascinated, and found his determination to do this his way, not hers, wavering.

She stood in front of him, clearly enjoying the effect she was having, and she turned her look of innocence into one of seductive naivety. She took no pains to disguise the obviousness of her words.

'It's a pity about clothing coupons and things, isn't it?' she said. 'I mean, I'm pretty, aren't I? And a girl like me needs good clothes doesn't she?' She moved her hips, suggestively. 'And a man like you – in your business –'

Solly recovered his composure as best he could. He edged the conversation back into the right direction.

'You're pretty enough,' he said. He hesitated before he took the plunge. 'And just a bit naughty, wouldn't you say?'

Kitty pouted. 'Just a tiny bit,' she admitted. 'Naughty but nice. Don't you think I'm nice?' She slowly pushed her hips out towards him, teasing at the waistband of her knickers with one provocative finger.

'I think you're at least as naughty as you are nice.'

'Yes. Nice enough to take to bed.'

'Oooh!' Kitty pretended to be taken aback.

'And naughty enough to need your bottom smacked.'

Kitty looked at him in a half sideways glance. After a moment she said: 'D'you know about that then?'

Solly did. It hadn't been quite what he'd meant, but it would do as a starting point.

'Yes, I know.'

'How d'you know?'

Solly smiled at the recollection. 'Because you aren't so grown up as you pretend to be when your mum takes your knickers down, are you?'

'What d'you mean?' Kitty lost some of her poise as she started to frown slightly. Solly thought it made her look even prettier.

'What do I mean? I mean that you sound much more like a little girl when you cry. The strap makes you cry, doesn't it?'

Kitty's bottom lip pushed out as she pouted again. 'A bit,' she confessed. 'Why, have – have you heard?'

'Yes, I've heard. And I may say that I approve, incidentally.'

'Oh.' She'd stopped teasing him now. She simply stood there in her bra and her knickers and looked rather crestfallen.

On an impulse Solly reached out a hand, inviting her onto his knee. She came to him, though dubiously. Her warm thighs pressed temptingly down into his lap, his hand slipped easily around her hips, brushing the silkiness of the knickers, then stroking the creamy texture of her thigh. His other hand wandered little by little up the line of her thighs in front. A linger teased briefly at the silky tuck of material where it hid seductively between the tops of her legs. Her eyes were big and soft, seeking his, her lips moist and inviting.

'Now then,' said Solly quietly. 'About this business of clothing coupons.'

She kept her eyes on his and eased her weight in his lap with a little lift of her bottom. The movement, the warmth pressing softly into him, made his throat go strangely dry.

'I'm not altogether sure that I ought to listen to you, you know,' said Solly. 'After all, there is a war on, and people have a duty to support the government, no matter how inconvenient it may be.'

Kitty looked at him still as if she knew he was only saying it for the sake of appearances. He stroked a hand up behind her back and the strap of her bra clicked undone. He eased the shoulder straps aside. Her small, firm breasts glowed almost luminous with the tender bloom of youth.

'Even more to the point, I can't help wondering what sort of trouble you might get yourself into if you can go out and about dressed to kill.' He patted meaningfully at her thigh again. Because we know you are a naughty girl, don't we Kitty?'

Kitty's tongue peeped out and moistened her lips, her eyes still on his. Solly came to the point as gently as he could.

'Now, just suppose I were to do what you want. Well then, you'd have to admit that in a way I might be responsible for leading you astray, in a manner of speaking.'

Kitty's voice was barely audible. 'Yes, I s'pose so,' she whispered.

'In which case, perhaps I ought to make myself responsible, in a way, for your moral well-being.'

Kitty's thighs parted gently as Solly's fingers invited themselves into the warm, damp nook between her legs. 'Perhaps,' conceded Kitty, meekly.

Solly's other hand, the one around her hips, played speculatively with the elastic of her knickers, slipping them partway down off the swell of her hips.

'And there's really only one way to do that where a naughty little girl is concerned, isn't there Kitty my love? We'd have to take her knickers down, wouldn't we, eh? And smack her bottom.'

Kitty's eyes lowered, away from his face. She seemed to be considering the possibility he'd so carefully suggested. Distantly, and so faintly as to give no cause for alarm, there sounded the crump and rumble of bombs exploding. Each of them more or less succeeded in ignoring the ominous noise altogether.

'Would you – would you help me then? Let me have things without coupons?' She looked up at him again. 'And would I have to pay?' she asked, driving the bargain while she could.

'I'd help you,' said Solly, 'but you'd have to pay – in a way.' He patted gently, pointedly, at the bare part of her hip. 'But you wouldn't mind that, would you Kitty?'

Kitty took a little more time, working it out again to be sure she'd got it right. Her voice was still a whisper. 'And – and if I paid – like that – you – you'd still smack me as well? Is that right? I'd have to be naughty, to pay – and then you'd smack me, for being naughty?'

Solly couldn't help smiling to himself at the way she'd talked herself into paying double for what she thought was a bargain. He'd have been content simply to correct her erring ways, taking payment in the pleasure of punishing her dear little bottom. But now, apparently, he was to be both disciplinarian and provocateur. He had to admit that the situation had its attractions.

'Yes, that's right my dear,' he said gently. 'That's exactly what I had in mind.'

He stroked her bare hip again, and insinuated his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, slipping them down a little further.

'And would – would that mean you'd help me? Give me clothes and things?'

'Yes, and some of the coupons other people gave me – 'er, lift up a moment, there's a good girl – well, if I didn't cancel them, I could give them to you for all the other things you might want.'

Obediently Kitty eased her weight up off his lap, letting him slip her knickers down properly, so that they clung gently to her thighs, her bottom bare against the coarseness of his trousers.

'So I could buy undies, and things like that? Shoes and things?'

'Yes, that's right. Now, just roll over this way sweetheart. That's right. That's a good girl.'

Kitty's bare breasts pressed against his chest as he persuaded her to roll towards him. Then, with an easy pressure of his hand against her shoulder, he coaxed her into lying across his lap, face down, her pert, naked little bum upturned cheekily over his legs, the knickers rucked prettily around the tops of her thighs. His hand rested lightly on the crown of one resilient cheek, the other inched her knickers a little further down and persuaded her thighs to part and admit his teasing fingers. Kitty spread her legs submissively as the tantalising touch sparked off a tingle of nervous excitement.

Then, the business in hand needing attention, Solly reluctantly stopped playing with her and slid his hand back up over the naked curve of her buttocks. He patted the bouncy cheeks, and curled an arm about her waist, pulling her into him.

Her voice sounded anxious, almost plaintive. 'You – you going to smack me now?' she asked, pressing her legs together as his hand toyed with the tender underside of her buttocks.

'Yes. Having second thoughts Kitty?'

He raised his hand and spanked her softly, once, her cheeks wobbling nicely as his palm landed.

'M-mum might be back any minute,' she protested. 'She might find us.'

Solly smacked again, still without any sting in it. 'I doubt it,' he said mildly. 'She won't come home while there's a raid on, will she?'

'Er –'

Solly smacked the soft, succulent buttocks once more, the impact sounding a little smarter, Kitty wriggled her hips anxiously. Solly's hand fell again, then, rhythmically, he began to spank both trembling cheeks in turn, pausing between each slap to watch the slow blush spread in vibrant tints of crimson across the underside of her buttocks.

Kitty complained with little gasps as the smart made itself felt, and her bottom cheeks began to twitch prettily in anticipation of each successive spank. Solly played with her, timing the slaps to catch her unprepared, spanking as she relaxed, stroking soothingly as her buttocks huddled together after each smack.

'Mr Gold-Goldberg – Oooch! it... it's hurting, Mr Gold – Oow!'

'Is it darling?'

He spanked again, hard enough to elicit a tiny yelp, and a quick, tormented wriggle from her bottom.

'Ooooh – n-no, please!'

'Now, now Kitty. If you're going to do all the naughty things you do...' He slapped again, making her bottom bounce cheekily, and her thighs squirmed tantalisingly across his lap, '...you've got to expect to get your bottom smacked, now haven't you, eh?'

'Oh! But I'm – OOW! – I'm not really n-naughty –' SWHAT!

Gradually but inevitably, Kitty began to cry, her weeping punctuated by pathetic, whimpering protests, and interspersed with sharp and desperate yelps as Solly's hand punished her writhing, reddened bottom with a series of stinging slaps, which had her defenceless cheeks quivering helplessly and her bare thighs scissoring energetically to and fro.

Slowly the rhythm of the spanking slackened, Solly slapping with just enough regularity to keep the smart hotly alive in her bottom, and his hand began to wander back between her thighs, teasing with insistently stroking fingers until the trembling of her bottom eased in intensity and the fresh, crimson glow pleaded for another good hard smack to re-energise the tantalising squirm of her hips. Her crying slowly subsided into a gasping, sobbing blubber, and, despite the occasional visitation of a loud and stinging spank, Kitty began to spread her thighs more eagerly, the pink and secret folds of her pussy pleading mutely for the exciting insolence of Solly's tormenting fingers. He teased her with alternating bouts of pain and pleasure, until she was gasping more for the caress of his fingertips than for cessation of her punishment.

At last, with Kitty pleading for it audibly and unmistakably, Solly swivelled around on the bed and rolled her over onto her back on the rough blankets.

He screwed her slowly and methodically, shoving her bit by bit up the slope into a vast and tumultuous climax. Kitty shrieking her ecstasy with utter abandonment into the echoing hollowness of the cellar.

Eventually, and very gingerly, Kitty slid out from under Solly and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at him with her big wide eyes, but said nothing. He could tell little from her expression. He waited, judging patience to be the best course of inaction.

When at last she broke the silence, Kitty's voice was still no more than a whisper. 'I didn't know I'd have to pay in advance,' she said, and smiled childishly.

'You know me,' said Solly, relieved that she seemed cheerful enough about it. 'Cash, in advance. That's the way to do business.'

Kitty looked dubiously at him. 'But how do I know you'll keep your part of the bargain?' she said. She stood up and retrieved her knickers from where they'd fallen on the floor.

'I will,' said Solly. You needn't worry about that.'

Kitty slipped into her knickers and stooped to pick up the thermos flask. The brilliant spank marks glowed hotly where her knickers didn't quite cover her bottom.

She poured out some tea and offered a cup to Solly. He sat up on the edge of the bed and drank it. Kitty made no move to get dressed, just stood half naked, sipping from her cup. She looked very thoughtful. Solly decided that she'd come out with it all in good time.

'Will I always be smacked?' she asked at length.

'Only when you've been naughty,' said Solly.

'And how will you know?'

'I won't. Not unless it's me who –'

Kitty smiled, making it unnecessary for Solly to finish.

'But that's not a problem,' he continued. 'I'll just kind of average it out.' He grinned up at her. 'About twice a week ought to be roughly right, oughtn't it?'

Kitty moved seductively, teasing him again. 'Yes, that's about right.' She couldn't resist what she thought of as a compliment, never mind that she was letting herself in for a couple of spankings a week. 'But anyway, that's not really what I meant. I meant, will you always just spank me, like you did tonight.' She turned away slightly, the cheeks of her bottom wobbling faintly under the knickers. 'Or will it be something else?'

Solly couldn't quite figure that out.

'How d'you mean?' he said.

'Well, mum uses a belt on me,' she said rather ruefully. He tried to follow her train of thought.

'I know,' said Solly.

'Well,' continued Kitty. 'I just wondered, that's all. I thought you might want to strap me too, you see.'

Solly studied her pretty face, wondering where this was leading. 'Would you want me to as well?' he asked gently.

She seemed to consider her words carefully as she answered, though there was no trace of embarrassment. 'I might,' she said at length.

Distantly, carrying down into the cellar, came the sound of the all-clear, disturbing the intimacy of the atmosphere between them. Kitty seemed to pull herself together. She dressed, saying no more. Solly followed her up the cellar steps and switched out the light.

Back in his flat, Solly took stock. It all seemed to have worked pretty well. The remembered picture of Kitty's red and wriggling bottom kept him company as he went to bed. He took a book with him, not feeling ready for sleep yet. Downstairs he heard the telephone ringing.

It was some five minutes later that the tentative knock sounded at his door. It had to be Kitty: there was no one else home. He opened the door, finding her wearing only a nightdress and a nervous smile. She stumbled over her words as she apologised for disturbing him.

'That's alright,' said Solly. 'Want to come in?'

'Yes, please.' She followed him with anxious eyes as he led the way into his flat. He closed the door and turned to face her.

'Won't your mum be home soon?' he asked.

'No, that was her on the telephone. There's some unexploded bombs along Mile End Road. She's going to stay at her sister's instead of trying to get home.'

'I see. Well then...' he looked at her inquiringly '...you're welcome, of course.'

Nervously, from behind her back, she produced a slim, springy-looking cane. 'I – I couldn't find mum's strap,' she said. 'Will this do? It's a cane,' she explained, unnecessarily. 'One dad bought before the Army sent him away. It's n-never been used.'

Solly took the cane. It felt almost alive in his hand.

'D' you mean –?' He stopped, confused.

'Yes. Please. Will – will it hurt very much?'

Solly swished the cane through the air. It sang airily. Kitty almost jumped at the sound.

'I dare say it would smart a bit,' he said. He swished it again. The idea began to appeal.

Kitty backed away slightly, her hands behind her. 'An-and will it leave m-marks?'

'Marks?'

'On my bum. Will it make marks?'

'It could do.' Solly ran the smooth, silky cane through his fingers. 'It could leave marks that'd stay for a week, I should think, if I gave you a proper caning.' He studied her worried face closely. He spoke gently. 'Is that what you want, a good whacking?'

Kitty's bottom lip was trembling. She bit it impulsively. 'I – I think so,' she said, very quietly.

'You think so?'

'I – I mean, yes. Please.'

'Well –' Solly studied her face again, and realised that she was serious, though apparently frightened to death of the idea at the same time. Her motivation quite eluded him for the moment, but he did the sensible thing and decided that she'd probably come out with it when she was ready to. Meanwhile here, before his very eyes, was the delectable Kitty asking for it, and quite literally. The least he could do was give it to her.

His voice a blend of authority and coaxing, he said: 'You'd better come through to the bedroom then.' He indicated the door and ushered her towards it with a gesture of his hand.

Unsure of herself, her big eyes looking suddenly lost and rather desperate, Kitty preceded him into the bedroom, though not without a fearful backward glance as she went.

The nightdress looked to be of satin, and the bedside lamp illuminated Kitty's slim figure from within the room and shadowed the outline of her body on the shiny material. It occurred to Solly to wonder where she could have got it from. Charitably he put it down as being a pre-war frivolity.

Kitty stopped by the bed. Solly closed the bedroom door and then laid the cane across the foot or the bed. Kitty eyed it nervously, her hand fidgeting with the folds of her nightie. So distressed did she seem that Solly had to ask her, to be certain. 'Kitty, are you sure you know what you're doing?'

She bit her lip again. 'Y-yes. I mean, I think so.'

He gave her a moment to change her mind, then, his voice soothing, he said: 'Slip your nightie up then. Up to your waist.'

Her eyes on his, she did as he said, the sheer satin rippling in folds as she raised it slowly up the front of her thighs. The soft curls of her pubis gleamed enticingly in the lamplight.

'Now, across the bed.'

Kitty turned and prostrated the upper half of her body on the candlewick bedspread, her knees bending, her toes ruffling the pile of the carpet, the nightdress covering most of her bottom still. Solly slid a hand up her thigh and slipped the satin up to her waist. Her freshly punished bottom still glowed with a hot tenderness; the reddened cheeks blotched with a crimson blush, the soreness more evident under the plumpness along the lower line of her cheeks.

"How m-many?' Her voice trembled as she asked, making her sound childish and quite helpless.

Solly stroked the warmth of each buttock in turn, and patted, making them wobble faintly.

'A dozen, I should think.' He had no idea why it ought to be a dozen.

'Could – couldn't you make it less? Please?'

Of course he could. 'No,' he said. 'I think a dozen will be about right.'

Kitty sounded desperate. 'But – my bottom's already s-sore. Ever so sore, Mr Goldberg. I'm sure –'

'A dozen,' said Solly, more firmly.

Kitty's protest tailed off. She seemed to sigh softly, then she buried her face in the bedclothes and lay quietly, her saucy bottom smooth and inviting the caress of the cane.

He picked up the cane and stood to one side of her.

'Straighten your legs, there's a good girl.'

Kitty did so obediently, her thighs becoming firm and her toes digging into the carpet. Solly brought his arm down sharply, the supple cane splatting with a flat, smacking sound across the curve of both cheeks at once.

Kitty jerked, seemed to hover tremulously on the brink of rebellion for an instant, then, her hips rolling slowly to one side, she let her breath escape in a soft, sighing rush. Her knees sagged, almost touching the floor.

'Legs straight!' demanded Solly.

Kitty thrust her legs out instantly, the authority in his voice unexpected and frightening.

He gave her another stroke, a little harder, a little lower down, catching her squarely across the soreness at the bottom of her cheeks.

'Oow!' Kitty yelped in anguish. Her hands clutched frantically at her naked bum and she jerked her head up, staring at him with wild eyes.

Neatly avoiding her hands, he cracked another stinging stroke across the very tops of her thighs, a fraction of an inch below the faint crease that delineated the lower extremities of her buttocks.

Kitty yelled again, her bottom squirming away from the threat of the next stroke. She gasped frenziedly.

'Oh no, no! Please no!'

Solly thwacked the next one squarely across her quivering cheeks again. She jolted upright, her knees on the floor and her hands clutching pathetically at her smarting bum. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and she pleaded with Solly not to give her any more. Desperately she pleaded, and resolutely Solly ignored her. Patiently he coaxed and cajoled her back across the bed, made her slide the nightie back up to her waist, and pedantically insisted on straight legs and an obediently elevated bottom. The two nervous and huddling cheeks displayed their weals and Kitty sobbed quietly into the bedspread.

With painful slowness Kitty got the rest of her caning. Solly readjusting her after every stroke and, having persuaded her back into position, waiting until both flinching buttocks were kept satisfactorily still before administering the next stinging whack. Kitty wept piteously throughout, and skittered away violently each time the cane landed, only to be ordered back into position ready for the next one. By the time the twelfth stroke had landed Kitty was sobbing helplessly, her sobs interspersed by quiet, despairing whimpers, her whipped bottom quivering as she struggled not to leap to her feet and flee from the stinging cane.

Her caning over at last, Solly lifted her gently to her knees and then helped her onto the bed. She lay on her tummy and cried for a while, and then managed to compose herself sufficiently to dry her eyes. She even squeezed out a wan smile as she looked up into Solly's concerned face.

'I'm alright now,' she said. 'Sorry I made so much fuss.'

Solly brushed a last tear away from her cheek. She seemed almost to be apologising for her brashness in having asked him to cane her. He could detect no trace of resentment in her eyes or in her faintly rueful expression. All in all he was thoroughly confused. He couldn't understand the meaning of it all. This caning, a whipping she had apparently been determined that he should give her, and then her pleas for it to stop when it had only just started. Understandable, especially as she'd said she'd never been caned before, and yet when he'd persisted, giving her the round dozen slowly and methodically, desperate though she'd been in her anguish, him thinking that he understood her, she had clung on to her self-control long enough to take what he'd given her. Yet at any point she could have clambered to her feet and stopped her torment in a moment. So perhaps he did understand her after all.

And earlier, down in the cellar, when she'd asked if he might not always spank her, implying that she might prefer to be strapped – that surely must have had the same meaning. That she wanted him to punish her, but had been too ashamed or too shy or too innocent to say so. So that was it.

Solly gently pushed a stray lock of hair back off her face and looked and wondered. He thought he could see the logic of it now, though logic wasn't a word one would normally use in the same breath as one might say her name. She wasn't a logical person, more a creature of emotion, driven to do whatever she did by way of indulging the appetite of the moment. So now, at last, he felt sure he understood.

He smiled down at her on the bed, his smile edged with a certain assurance, now that he thought he knew.

Kitty pouted and dabbed gingerly at her uncovered bottom. He tickled her under her chin and drew a smile from her.

'You staying?' he asked.

Kitty looked dubious for a moment. She seemed not to have thought of it until that moment. Then she nodded, slowly. Solly could almost hear the gearwheels humming in her brain.

'But my bum's very sore,' she said quietly. 'I don't think we'll be able to – well, you know. I mean, I think I'll have to lay on my tummy –'

That hadn't been what he'd meant. The girl seemed determined to misunderstand him tonight. Her mind seemed to insist on interpreting everything he said in terms of sex. Still, never one to ignore a bargain. Solly rubbed some cold cream into her hot little bottom and then with a calm and self-satisfied smugness made love to her while she lay on her tummy and gasped and squirmed her frantic way to her second climax of the evening.

Afterwards, while she cuddled up to him in bed, they lay and listened to the sound of aeroplanes until the night sky was quiet once more.

Sleepily she stirred against him, her smooth, soft thigh slipping silkily against his.

'Mr Goldberg?' she said drowsily.

'Yes.'

'Mr Goldberg – you will keep our bargain, won't you?'

He grinned in the darkness. 'Yes, of course I will, why, didn't you think I would?'

'I didn't know. I kind of did and I kind of didn't. But I know you will now.'

'Of course.' Solly thought about that for a moment. "Er – how do you know, now?'

"Cos you'll have to, see.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Cos now you've given me the cane, well – if Mum got to see my bum – the cane marks I mean – well, then I'd have to tell her how they got there. See?'

'But – you asked me to do it. How would you explain that to your mother?'

Kitty snuggled more comfortably against Solly's warm chest. She spoke sleepily.

'Well, you know me, Mr Goldberg. As you said, I'm a naughty girl.' She cuddled an arm around his neck, her breasts soft against his arm. 'And naughty girls sometimes tell fibs, don't they?' A moment later she was asleep.

And now, at last, he did understand. The caning had been Kitty's insurance policy. He found himself smiling again at the illogicality of it. As if he'd have welshed on the deal she'd talked herself into anyway. For a blossoming little sex-pot she seemed to understand precious little about men. And the really amusing part was that it wouldn't matter a damn if she did show her poor whipped little bottom to her mum, because that had been part of the other bargain.

There were a few things that Kitty didn't know. She didn't know, for instance, that her mum had never actually been married to her dad, and neither did she know that in a month or so, after Solly had sold the business, they were all going to move down to a cottage in Wales – he, Kitty and her mum. They'd have the wedding just before they moved. That was one part of the arrangement. The other was that once Solly was legally part of the family he should do something about taking young Kitty in hand. Her mother wasn't so stupid that she didn't know what her little girl was getting up to behind her back with the servicemen home on leave, and she admitted that the girl needed a man's hand to steer her in the right direction. So the cane marks on Kitty's cute little bum were only a straw in the wind, she'd be getting plenty more if she didn't mend her ways.

Solly wondered what Mum would think if she knew the whole story. It didn't take long to work it out. Mum probably wouldn't let it worry her, Solly knew that she was only really marrying him for his money, and if she had to turn a blind eye occasionally then the price wouldn't be too high.

He stared up at the ceiling and worked it out, bit by bit. And then he started to smile. Kitty wasn't seventeen yet. As his stepdaughter she'd be under his jurisdiction at least until she was twenty-one. Kitty was going to get to know that cane very intimately indeed.

And then Solly began to laugh aloud. Because after all, the poor girl wasn't even going to get the clothes she so desperately wanted. In six weeks he'd have sold the shop. He'd be in the tailoring business no more.

Kitty stirred beside him in her sleep. She turned over, and her soft, hot bum cheeks brushed against his leg. Her future stepfather patted her paternally on the bottom, and then himself went serenely to sleep.

An English Rose

Story from old Blushes.

An English Rose


Today, just after lunch, I saw young Sally down by the old man's shed. Just hanging around I think. I watched her from my allotment, over the hedge. It must be a good ten years or so since they moved into the village. She's a good-looking girl, no doubt about that. Lovely shoulder-length curls of reddish hair, bobbing around as she turns her head this way and that. And she's grown quite tall since her earlier teenage years.

I wondered what she was doing, on her own, down by the shed. She definitely looked uneasy as though she hoped no-one was watching. She couldn't see me, though I was so close I swear I could feel her perfume on the sultry warm air. She was looking for something. First she stretched up, feeling along near the top of the door, and I saw her nipples pressing out against the taut material of her tee-shirt. I must confess I've often wondered what she looks like. I mean, beneath her clothes. That tee-shirt was so tantalising, somehow; not too tight, but very thin, allowing her gorgeous young shape to shine through; and now I know she wasn't wearing a bra. I suppose those firm little titties of hers just don't need one.


She was wearing shorts today. I think she looks really good in shorts. Actually, she looks good in anything. Put her in an old sack and she'd still look gorgeous. But those shorts. After she had stretched up, she bent down. Perhaps she'd dropped something, but anyhow, she bent right down, so those shorts of hers tightened right up around her bottom.

I wondered whether she was wearing any knickers, knowing how she likes the sunshine and likes to be so free and easy. Carefree and easy, to be exact. I couldn't see at first, but I reckon I saw the faintest outline of little panties underneath her shorts. My God! She looks so healthy. Alive. Brimming with spirit and energy, her skin so gently sun-tanned, though not in a vulgar way; and her limbs so firm and glowing with life. I can smell that scent even now, as it merged with the climbing roses on the terrace above Dick's Barn.


The roses reminded me of the Summer Fayre, and that lovely day in June last year. Sally led the parade, in that majorette uniform of hers. She's left the troupe now, so I've heard. But she was a picture. Her knickers that day were white and lacy, and very very tight; and she looked even taller in her short tunic and high heels.

Mind you, I heard a rumour, not so long ago, about her family. They say the parents are very strict with her. Don't stand for any messing about. I've always thought she's very well-behaved. Very charming. Always smiles at me when I pass her in the street. Sometimes I've imagined what it would be like if she was my niece. I suppose any spirited girl needs a firm hand; a touch of fair discipline. She'd appreciate it in the long run. Probably come back and see you, years later, to thank you for bringing her up right. They do say, you know, that her father actually smacks her bottom. Now there's a thought. How many nights I've sat out in the garden, thinking about that. Can't see how he could manage it, really. He's not as tall as his daughter. And she's a bit too big to be put across one's knee, isn't she. Mind you, that bottom of hers looks perfectly smackable; and to be honest, she has a very cheeky look on her face sometimes. I'm sure the occasional good hiding wouldn't do her any harm. If that's how he brings her up, she certainly looks good on it.


I must tell you about the time I found her in a dreadful state, over in the shed where the club keep their tools and things. Heaven only knows what she'd been doing. I never did find out the whole truth. But her father had caught her taking a short cut across Matthew Jones' patch. Old Jones saw her too, and complained about it, because she'd kicked up his seed-bed. Her father took quite a firm grip on his daughter. She protested, of course, but it made no difference. They disappeared, the two of them, father and daughter, into the shed. He came out about five minutes later saying he left his daughter to do some tidying up as a penance.

So that was when I came on the scene. Perhaps she'd tried to tidy the place up. I'm not sure, really. Some of us suspected she'd deliberately messed the shed up. It's all a bit blurred now, but I do remember her father coming back up the field, absolutely furious. My God. Any sane person would have withered, faced with that man's anger. Last thing we saw was young Sally, all nineteen years of her, being frog-marched off down the path towards her home.


Sally leaned against the open door of the lounge. 'You called?' There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Her mother, looking worried, as always, bustled off into the kitchen, taking her pinafore with her. The girl rounded on her father. 'What the hell do you think I am, showing me up like that?' She was addressing a frail-looking man who was sitting awkwardly in the centre of the settee. 'You showed me up, damn you.'

The man shook his head. 'Sally... I'm sorry...' His daughter threw back her head and laughed, insultingly. 'Jesus! You're sorry! Just trying to keep up the image, weren't you. Pretending to be the firm father, weren't you? Little do they know that you're pathetic.' She emphasised each syllable of the word. 'Call yourself a bloody father? You're just a bloody wally, that's all!' She strutted confidently out of the room into the hall. But she heard her father's voice, still talking to her. She stopped, and listened, assuming that he wouldn't know that she was still there. 'I'm sorry, Sally.' There was a period of silence, and the girl guessed her father had walked across the lounge into the kitchen. She was right. She crept further along the passage so that she could overhear their conversation. 'That girl!' It was still her father's voice. 'I know, dear. But James will be here, soon, I'm sure. He did say he might be held up.' James? Sally presumed they meant her Uncle James. He didn't live near here. In fact he taught at some starchy old private school in the North. She began to wonder why her Uncle James was visiting. It was still term-time, as far as she knew.


A few moments later, she heard her mother's voice. 'Sally. Your father and I are going out for a few hours. You won't mind, will you?' Sally never minded. She looked forward to gelling rid of her parents for an hour or so. For one thing, it gave her free access to the cocktail cabinet. 'OK. Don't worry about me.' Unknown to young Sally, her mother actually smiled. That evening of all evenings, she was certainly not going to worry about her daughter. For once, she knew her daughter would be in good hands. Her brother James was on his way. The only slight concern she had was that her daughter's bottom would survive the next hour or so.

It was only a matter of half an hour after Sally's parents left, that she heard the chimes of the front door. Her Uncle James was standing there, just as she had remembered him from some years ago. She invited him in. Sally suggested a cup of coffee, and disappeared into the kitchen to fill the kettle. On her return, she found her Uncle seated on the settee browsing through one of the family photograph albums. 'That was a few years' ago, wasn't it?' He pointed to a snap shot of Sally at the seaside in a little bikini. All frills, and covering nothing of much importance. 'That was the time you stayed out after dark, wasn't it?' The girl began to blush, deeply, remembering what had happened when she had finally come up off the beach to the family's holiday chalet. Her uncle seemed persistent. 'What happened, Sally?' She refuses to answer, suggesting that the kettle was about to boil. She made her escape, and returned a few moments later, smiling, with a tray and two mugs of coffee.


Uncle James drank his coffee in silence. Sally tried once or twice to strike up a conversation but finally gave up. Eventually, the man returned the coffee mug to the table and stood up. 'Sally'. She looked up at him. 'Your parents asked me to call tonight.' The girl was genuinely puzzled. 'But they planned to go out, so they told me...' Her uncle nodded. 'They did. Because they wanted to be away from here whilst you and I had a quiet chat.' Sally looked puzzled. In truth, she had a growing feeling that things weren't too right. 'I'm sorry. I don't understand.' Uncle James offered a slight smile as he looked down at his still-seated niece. 'Oh, you will, Sally. I assure you, you will.'

He frog-marched her upstairs that evening. 'You look and smell disgusting, Sally. What were you doing in that shed? Meddling around with things that didn't belong to you –' She had denied the charge, fervently. 'More likely deliberately trying to cause a mess?' He saw that she blushed at his accusation. He pushed her towards the bathroom. 'Get in there. Before I punish you, I will insist that you are clean.' He sat there, in the bathroom, and waited, insisting that she got undressed. First her shorts, right down to her ankles, removed and placed neatly over the radiator.


'Get that tee-shirt off!' He waited. She turned her back on him and pulled the garment up over her head. He watched as her breasts bobbed into view. 'Now get those knickers down and get into the shower.' He waited again. She tried to argue. He insisted. Finally, they fluttered down in a gesture of surrender. He pushed her into the shower. 'Get washed; and then I shall deal with you.'

The locals noted a change in young Sally's behaviour since that evening. Of course, they weren't to know how her Uncle James had caned her, while she was lying bottom-up across her bed, and how she had yelled her promise to behave in future as the cane kept arriving across her bared bottom-cheeks. And in the morning she had sat uncomfortably at the breakfast table while her Uncle James discussed the previous evening's events. 'I suggest she comes to stay with us for a week or so, seeing its the holiday season.' Her parents had agreed immediately. Sally began to wish she'd never known about her Uncle James.


One week later, young Sally was across another bed, face down, her knickers somewhere around her ankles. 'All my daughters used to get this treatment if they misbehaved.' It seemed little consolation for the nasty stinging feeling in her bottom. He stayed to apply a few more strokes to the girl's nether regions, watching as the cane made the girl's cheeks tighten on each impact. He made a mental count of the pale red marks. 'Six of the best never hurt anyone, so they say.'

Then, later, and most embarrassing of all, Sally was 'persuaded' to go through the dance routine she'd been learning for a part she had in the local Amateur Dramatic Society's forthcoming production. Lots of high kicks – stuff like that. One snag; the dancing was to be executed naked – Uncle James said he saw no reason why not, since the garden, where it was to be done, was perfectly secluded.


And there was, it turned out, another snag; there was to be an audience, comprising certain friends of Uncle James'. They sat outside in the sun, sipping cool drinks and listening to Sally's squeals and the crack of Uncle James' hand across her bottom as he dealt with the girl's last minute attack of 'stage fright'.

Just like Uncle James, to make a big performance out of everything.