Story from Janus 86.
Good & Faithful Servant
by Andrew Grantham
EMMA wanted for nothing. Nothing except her clothes!
It wasn't that she didn't have any to wear. Her wardrobes and drawers were full of designer items from the top couturiers and stores such as Liberty, Harrods and the like. The trouble was that they were all securely locked away — and Reeves had the key. Not having access to her clothes meant, of course, that she was unable to leave the penthouse suite; which was why Richard had done what he did and entrusted the key to his ever-faithful manservant.
Her friends in Stringfellows and Tramp had warned her that Richard was a man who treated his women as virtual slaves. She had scoffed at the very idea, being attracted to his looks, his masculinity, his power and his wealth. She saw now that her friends had been right about Richard, but the sublimely pretty, golden-haired daughter of a major considered that she was still on to a good thing, despite her lover's funny ways.
One of Richard's funny ways was to deprive his headstrong darling of clothing to ensure that she did not leave the penthouse during his absences. Emma hadn't minded too much at first, once she had become used to being totally nude in the presence of Reeves, for she had soon wearied of holding an arm in front of her beautifully full and rounded breasts and of shielding her heavy pelt of tightly-curled pubic hair from his seemingly incurious gaze.
Now, however, she was deriving some pleasure from flaunting herself before the good-looking, middle-aged manservant. It had been difficult not to laugh when she had earlier spilled a glass of wine over herself and he had dabbed, with his usual deadpan efficiency, at her breasts with a napkin. No doubt it was the crisp linen rubbing against her shell-pink nipples that had started her arousal.
Heavens! How she missed Richard and his sexual prowess. He'd said on the morning of his departure, after he had finally withdrawn from her body, that all the exhaustive, exhausting, exhilarating things they had just been getting up to would have to last her until he got back.
Now there were still a couple of days until his return and Emma was becoming randier by the minute.
Being in the company of Reeves for so long didn't help. She thought he was quite dishy for a man of his age, and the older men she had slept with before Richard had all been better lovers than the young bloods. Richard, of course, was an exception.
Deeply frustrated, she flopped nudely into an easy chair in front of the television and pressed the button to start whatever video had been left in the machine.
'Oh no,' she groaned as the images flickered into life. 'Not that one!'
Richard had recorded several of their steamy sex sessions and edited them all on to one tape — and it was this particular video that Emma found herself watching. Very soon, the sights and the sounds of their passion became too much and she switched off the set practically incandescent with frustration.
There was a knock on the door. It was Reeves. 'Is there anything you need before I go out, Miss Emma?' he enquired with maddening politeness.
Emma couldn't help herself. She was craving for sex and the only person capable of satiating her desire at that moment was the handsome, well-built retainer.
'Yes. There is, dammit, Reeves,' she croaked, heaving herself from the chair and walking towards his imposing figure. She stopped close up to him, a carnal smile on her extraordinarily pretty face. Her breasts were just touching the servant's crisp white shirt and she pushed them proudly out, holding her shoulders back so that her stiffened nipples pressed against his chest.
'I want you to fuck me, Reeves,' she breathed huskily. 'I'm expecting big things of you.' With that, she thrust a hand into his crotch and squeezed gently.
'I'm afraid I must decline your very tempting offer,' intoned Reeves, staring into Emma's eyes of bathing-pool blue and backing away slightly. 'But I am under strictest orders from Mr Richard...'
'Damn you, Reeves!' cried the frustrated Emma. 'Are you a fucking eunuch or something?'
'I can assure you I am not,' was the half-smiled reply.
'Richard will never know,' wailed the beautiful naked girl, running frenzied fingers through her honey-coloured tresses.
'Mr Richard has detailed me to do whatever is necessary for your comfort...' began the suddenly stern-faced servant.
'There you are then, Reeves,' laughed Emma. 'There's your get-out. I'll be much more comfortable after you've given me a good bonking!'
'I'm afraid that Mr Richard would interpret the situation rather differently,' replied Reeves with a patronising smile. 'Furthermore my master has foreseen such a request on your part in his absence, and has given me instructions accordingly.'
'Has he, indeed!' gasped Emma, a little taken aback. 'And just what are those instructions?' Her patience with the manservant was wearing very thin. In fact she felt insulted. Emma had never offered her lovely body to any man before and had the offer rejected. 'Are you going to see I take a cold shower or something?' she sneered.
'Ahem.' Reeves raised a hand to genteelly cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. 'No, Miss Emma,' was the intoned response. 'I am ordered to give you, on Mr Richard's behalf, six strokes of a cane he has deposited with me for just such an eventuality as has now occurred. Upon your, ahem, posterior, Miss. These were his instructions.'
Emma's mouth dropped open. She tried to speak, but no sounds came out. The naked beauty could not believe her ears.
'Pardon?' she croaked weakly at last.
Patiently, and authoratively, Reeves repeated his devastating statement.
'And I'm going to let you, aren't I?' scoffed Emma. 'On my "posterior" as you call it.'
'Yes, Miss,' she was firmly told. 'You will succumb. If not, I am instructed to pack your belongings and call a taxi to take you to Waterloo Station.'
Emma licked her suddenly dry lips. Reeves wasn't kidding. It was preposterous, but it was just the kind of thing Richard would order. Her mind was in a turmoil. Suddenly, everything was upside down.
'I suggest we get this over with as quickly as possible, Miss Emma,' remarked the servant with a discreet cough. 'I shall fetch the cane.'
Emma stood in a daze. She was actually going to be caned on her bare bottom. It would have to be on her bare bottom of course, because the bastard had locked all her clothes away! If she asked for them she would find herself in a taxi heading for Aldershot. But she was a grown-up woman! Surely she didn't have to suffer such an indignity?
But of course she did have to suffer it, for if Richard abandoned her the pampered, luxurious lifestyle to which she had become accustomed would vanish overnight. She could imagine the sniggered we told her sos in the night spots. She'd never dare show her face in Tramp or Stringfellows ever again.
Her body froze as Reeves reappeared carrying a thin, three-foot long cane with a curved handle. It looked awful. Emma had been playfully spanked by Richard prior to lovemaking. That had been quite enjoyable. This, however, was something else altogether. And in the altogether, too!
Reeves advanced solemnly on her, the cane held upright in the same way that her father carried his sword on ceremonial parades. Emma fought for saliva in her dry mouth. She simply could not quite believe that this was happening to her of all people. Just a few moments ago she had had the hots for the handsome, greying manservant. Now here she was about to have her arse hit by the selfsame person, with that dreadful, wicked-looking cane he was holding.
'Would you bend over and touch your toes please, Miss?'
His politely spoken request was actually an order — an order bearing the authority of Richard himself. Defiantly Emma squared her shoulders, causing her lovely breasts to rise up. For a split second she was going to tell Richard's confidant where to go and what to do when he got there. Then she thought better of it. More than her dignity was at stake.
'Damn you, Reeves!' she muttered. Then she drew a deep breath, turned her back on him and submissively jack-knifed her body.
Emma at once felt lewdly exposed with her bottom pushed up in the air like that, despite being by now well used to nudity in front of the servant. Daringly she parted her thighs, hoping that the sight of her intimate place might just detract Reeves from his duty. But when she saw him move to one side she groaned inwardly, knowing that her last little ploy had failed.
Emma could not see the servant staring dispassionately at what her lover had called a 'superb peardrop of a bum'. Her rear was truly delectable to contemplate, the apple-round cheeks neatly sliced in half by a long, deep crease.
There was fluttering feeling in the pit of Emma's tummy as she waited for her decreed punishment to begin. Then the fluttering stopped and she winced at the sensation of the cool wand chilling the taut warm flesh of her bent-over bottom. The natural pout of her lips disappeared as Reeves tapped the cane against the luscious moons a couple of times to get the range.
She turned her head slowly and fearfully to look around, glimpsed the shirt-sleeved arm in the air and quickly looked away again, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut.
The sound of the rattan across her offered orbs filled the large room. It seemed to Emma that the cane had burrowed its way deep into the cushions of her rump, depositing a streak of fire before springing away. She gasped as her body was suddenly swamped with anguish. Her head flicked back and her eyes met those of the man who had, with just one stroke, caused her so much pain.
'I suggest you turn your head away, Miss Emma,' Reeves coolly commanded as he stared back at the expression of shock and disbelief on the girl's pretty features.
Emma did as she was told, shivering and cringing as she waited naked and tense, her long shapely legs parted, bottom bare and beckoning, for Richard's loyal retainer to cane her a second time. The pause seemed interminable. Under her breath, she silently urged Reeves to hurry things up and put a speedy end to her humiliation and misery.
The second stroke, when it came, arrived with lightning-bolt impact. Emma's hips jerked and she squealed. Her behind felt as if it had been seared by a narrow-beamed laser. Reeves stood impassively in position, the cane dangling at his side as he viewed the succulent target swaying above braced, trembling legs. A perfectionist in everything he did for his employer, it was only natural that he would perform this punishment duty to the fullest of his ability and he clearly had a great deal of ability!
Already he had printed two scorching stripes across the proud flesh of Emma's buttock-cheeks, and he would emboss her delightfully rounded seat with a further four before telling her that he had completed his obligations in the matter.
Emma had never felt so awful in her life. She did not know whether it was the sheer pain or the abject humiliation that hurt her the more. The pain would, of course, eventually vanish — but the unfamiliar sense of absolute shame never would.
Reeves slowly raised the thin cane, paused for nerve-stretching moments, then brought it arcing down. The girl heard the Swisshhh! of its descent and dug her long, elegant toes into the thick pile carpet as, a split second later, the hissing stick struck fire once more into the moon-halves of her bottom.
An unprintable word was screeched as a further spasm of scalding anguish tore through Emma's body; beginning, peaking and finishing in her red-striped bottom which oscillated in its torment. Her already moist eyes became wetter and two sparkling teardrops raced one another down her cheeks to fall off her face and be absorbed into the carpet.
Emma's bottom continued to cringe, clench and rotate long after the cane had rebounded from the tramlined cushions and hovered above them, ready for the next stroke. Reeves politely asked her to keep it still. The wretched girl bit her lip and forced herself to comply. She did, however, alternately contract and relax her buttock-muscles in anticipation of the next application of biting pain.
CRACK! Again the firmly-gripped cane sped to its voluptuous target. Emma emitted a screech. Her knees gave way and she fell on all fours. The smarting in her beleaguered bottom was almost unbearable.
Reeves, his face emotionless, watched the wriggling, writhing rumps where Emma did a frantic, stationary crawl on the carpet, and calmly made an adjustment to his stance.
'You may by all means stay in that position if you wish, Miss,' he told her, tapping the obscenely upthrust semi-spheres with the cane to obtain a new range.
Again the wand whooshed through the air. Now, however, it had further distance to travel and gained even more momentum on its pain-giving journey. Just before it landed, the thought flashed through Emma's mind that her bottom would carry the marks of this caning for several days. Certainly there would be no way she could hide her lividly-streaked bottom from Richard when he got back.
He would, of course, know exactly what she had asked Reeves to do! What on earth was going to happen to her then?
The cane struck for a fifth time. Again her bottom took flame, her feet and knees performed a dervish-dance on the carpet and she cried out like a soul in torment.
'Only one more to go, Miss Emma,' announced Reeves politely. 'If you would be good enough to stay completely still...'