Story from Janus 63.
by Andrew Grantham
The old solicitor found the girl's proximity highly arousing. He peered at the pretty blonde with the blue, saucer-like eyes and curling, shoulder-length hair. One leg was crossed over the other. What legs, too.
He sighed, regretting his age, and began to read the will. Denise smugly waited for the announcement that Rose Cottage had been left to her by 'Uncle' Harold, as he had always promised.
'To my God-daughter Denise, I bequeath my collection of Corporal Punishment implements...'
Denise nearly fell off her chain.
The only other person present, a tall, good-looking young man sat not looking at the girl. He had done a lot of looking at her in recent years. Just looking – his advances had been firmly rebuked.
'To my nephew Roger, I bequeath all my property...'
He was getting Rose Cottage as well as the big house in the country! Denise stared malevolently at 'Uncle' Harold's nephew.
The tall young man with the authoritative bearing sat impassively. Roger invariably got whatever he wanted. He was a very shrewd person.
Denise knew why the will had been altered. She had discovered that 'Uncle' Harold was 'into' CP and she had ranted and raved at him, calling him, amongst other things, 'a lecherous old devil'. Denise, liberated but spoiled and petulant too, had even stopped seeing him for a while. She bitterly regretted it now, of course.
The solicitor carried on with the minor bequests. Denise, however, stormed towards the door and slammed it as she left. It was what she often did when she could not get her own way.
* * *
Later that evening, Denise sat on her settee, trying to concentrate on the television. A flimsy bathrobe was knotted loosely at her waist. The bell rang and she unravelled herself then padded to the hallway. Looking through the spyhole, she saw a wide-angled distortion of Roger. Should she let him in?
She slipped the chain and opened the door, hiding behind it so that only her head appeared in the opening. Roger was carrying a long package.
'What do you want?' she asked sullenly.
'I've got something for you,' he said politely. The blonde sighed, but opened the door fully. Once inside, he looked her up and down, mentally undressing her. On the defensive, Denise raise her collar oblivious to the fact that her shortie housecoat was now well above her nicely-rounded knees.
She ushered Roger towards the settee. He politely waited until she was seated herself. Then, he sat down. Denise was now aware of how much thigh she was revealing. Aware too of what she had on underneath her housecoat – nothing.
Roger began to unfasten the package, the girl wondering just what was inside. Of course! Out poured an assortment of canes, whips, martinets and the like.
'Get out!' she cried angrily, rising to her feet.
Roger made no move.
'I'll get you thrown out!' threatened Denise.
'Steady on.' He held up one hand and thrust the other inside his jacket. He produced a long white envelope. Denise recognise 'Uncle' Harold's handwriting. It was addressed to her. She snatched at it childishly.
The young man watched the changing expression on the pretty girl's face. Her eyes widened. Her mouth slacked open. Her head shook slowly from side to side.
'I don't believe it,' she croaked.
Her godfather's letter started off by saying how much he loved her but how upset he had been over her woolly-headed, feminist attitudes. He could not now see his way clear to bequeathing her the property. Perhaps the 'implements of correction and pleasure' would serve as a reminder of him and also as a salutary lesson to her. However, Roger had faithfully promised him that he would let her have Rose Cottage if...
'You expect to use... those... those... things on me!' she roared, pointing a shaking finger at her 'bequest'.
'I don't expect to, Denise,' replied Roger calmly. 'It depends how much you want the cottage.'
'Whose idea was this?' she snapped.
'Does it matter?' he answered.
'I shall contest the will,' she announced defiantly.
'By all means,' shrugged the young man. 'It could however prove a very costly undertaking. Supposing you lose!'
Denise bit her lip at that. She might be made bankrupt.
Roger observed her hesitation. 'It's got to be the bargain of the year,' he suggested. 'Don't you agree?'
'No, I do not!' rapped Denise, sitting down but neglecting to realise that her housecoat had ridden up her shapely thighs.
'Nobody else need know,' persisted the young heir. 'What does injured pride matter? And an injured bottom, of course.'
'That's the bit I don't like,' retorted Denise.
Roger smiled. 'You never know, my dear. You might just like it. Lots of girls do.'
'This girl doesn't,' sniffed Denise. She got up and glared at her visitor. 'Now, go! And take...' She indicated 'Uncle' Harold's CP implements. 'Take those with you.'
'They belong to you now,' Roger reminded her.
'Rose Cottage should have belonged to me.' Her voice broke and she sat down, sobbing.
'It can still belong to you,' insisted Roger.
'Very well then,' croaked Denise. She put her head in her hands. 'You win'.
The young man was taken aback by her sudden, out-of-character acquiescence. Denise herself didn't really know what it was that had made her yield so abruptly. Probably, the lure of the lovely old cottage outstripped her pride and her ideals.
She looked up at Roger, somehow now feeling very submissive in his presence. She experienced a little twinge in her tummy. 'If you cheat me,' she warned, 'I'll have you through all the courts in the land.'
Roger shrugged out of his jacket. 'That won't be necessary, Denise,' he informed her. 'My word is my bond.'
He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. As she rose, the ties of her housecoat slackened and the sides fell apart.
Her breasts were full and firm, with nipples like tiny, pink gems. Her slim waist flared out to wide hips which were supported by long, well-sculpted legs, with thighs that were solid and inviting. An entrancing triangle of blonde hair adorned her crotch.
Denise made a grab for the garment with her free hand but Roger stopped her.
'There seems to be little point in concealing your charms,' he said softly, although blood was pounding in his temples and his heart was racing. That body was going to pay dearly for her denials.
Denise reddened. She had stripped in front of males before to have sex, condescending to show herself off to her soon-to-be-lovers. This time however, she felt how a slave must have felt in the old days.
'This whole thing is under protest, Roger,' she said, her voice quavering.
He said nothing. He simply removed the housecoat from her shoulders. She stood before him, her upper arms concealing her nipples and her hands crossed in front of her 'vee'.
The girl's gaze fell to the various implements lying on the floor. Her breasts heaved and her pulse began to quicken.
'I think we'll start off with the cane,' Roger announced, bending his tall, lithe frame to pick up the gleaming yellow wand with the rounded handle. He held it in front of Denise, who shrank back from it.
'Lie across the settee with your hands on the floor,' he commanded.
Denise hesitated but then, biting her lip, she crawled across the settee and took up her position. She just thanked God that none of her feminist friends could see her in such an embarrassing, humiliating situation. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. 'Uncle' Harold would have been well pleased, no doubt.
Roger inspected her superb bottom, poked up nice and high due to the way her body was folded. The cheeks were well-rounded, solid, appealingly pale in colour and bisected by a long, deep cleft.
He tapped them with the end of the cane. Denise flinched and her body tensed. She tried to concentrate on the pattern of the carpet but her concentration lapsed when she felt the cane rise from her bottom.
Roger aimed for the meaty summit of her upthrust buttocks. He brought the cane down hard to land right on target.
The response of the nude victim, experiencing a cut of the cane for the very first time, was immediate. Denise yelped. She pressed her fingers into the carpet and bent her legs backwards from the knees.
'Stay still!' warned Roger sternly.
She turned her head to look at her attacker, but her waterfall of curls blocked her view. The pain in her bottom was stingingly awful. Why on earth had she allowed herself to be a party to such a bizarre arrangement?
Roger launched his rod into action once more. This time, it landed with a very sharp sound on the undercurves of her delightful, enticing bottom.
Denise squealed and pressed her hips and pubis into the padded arm of the settee as the rattan rebounded. Her body vibrated as if an electric current had been passed through it.
Roger paused, watching the pale flesh become illuminated by two neon-red lines before raising the much-used cane once more.
The third slash buried the wood momentarily into the fleshy top of her quivering buttocks. Denise yelled out as the fire in her rear intensified, soaring to a new peak. Her feet churned on the settee, causing her thighs to part and reminding Roger of the secret delights hidden from view – delights which had always been forbidden to him.
'How much more?' panted Denise, painfully.
'I shall decide that,' retorted Roger sharply.
The unviolated areas of her twin hemispheres above and below the middle angry red line wriggled invitingly. Roger chose the lower portion for the next visit of the well-tried rod.
The first three strokes had really hurt Denise. The fourth one did so, too. Roger spaced it midway between the centre and the lower stripe. The stinging slash made Denise feel as if her whole body was being consumed by a raging fire. Nowhere, however, did the fire burn fiercer than in her frantically humping bottom.
'Please!' No more!' she shrieked. The thick pile of the carpet soaked up the tears dripping from her eyes. Her body sagged warily.
'I think you can cope with a couple more,' Roger told her coolly. 'Then we'll call it a day – this time.'
'Hurry up!' sobbed Denise.
'There's no hurry,' drawled Roger.
No one used words like that to Roger and got away with it. He slashed at her bucking behind with the cane. The random stroke landed almost diagonally across her rump, bisecting two of the earlier stripes.
Denise howled and the lower part of her body made suggestive movements against the settee's upholstered arm.
Roger watched her performance, a smile spreading across his face. Denise thrashed her head from side to side, as if by shaking it she could rid her body of the horrendous hurt flowing from her violated nates.
The young man eyed the strip of still unblemished flesh near the top of her lewdly heaving bottom. He waited until the striped mounds stilled a little, then he raised the cane above his shoulders.
It whirred down in a blurring arc to land squarely across her ravaged seat. The room echoed with shrill cries as Denise reacted to another red hot wire of pain blazing through her scorched bottom.
Roger tapped the wailing girl on the shoulder. 'Get up now, Denise,' he said quietly.
A short while later, the young couple stood locked in each other's arms. Denise, her eyes still moist, felt highly aroused. The awful pain she had experienced had subdued to a very pleasant and comforting tingle. She pressed herself closer to Roger.
'You will keep your promise, won't you?' she sobbed.
'Of course I will,' he assured her.
Denise suggested they adjourned to the bedroom. Roger decided it was neither the time nor the place to tell her the council had slapped a demolition order on her beloved Rose Cottage.