"This is a short story by Matthew Martin from an old edition of 'Janus' and tells the tale of a most manipulative landlord. Oh 'working girls' in this context is the British 'girls who go to work' not the American rather more squalid interpretation! Read on :-" (Alex's preface to this story)
Story from Janus 29.
by Matthew Martin
I could see that she was desperately keen to have the flat. Owing to the various rent control acts and the idiotic persecution of landlords by successive governments, there was an acute shortage of furnished accommodation in London, especially for young unmarried working girls. When I advertised the place in the 'Rentals' column of The Times giving only a box number as the address to write to, I had over fifty replies. From these I made a short list of twelve (you can tell a lot about people from the sort of business letters they write) with whom I communicated either by post or telephone to give more particulars or ask more questions.
I always give preference to the daughters of ex-servicemen whom I have found to be better brought up than the average. Also I lean towards girls born overseas, for example in New Zealand, Australia or South Africa. Corruption spreads outwards from the centre of a decadent civilisation, so the further away from London you start life the better you are likely to end up.
In the end I arranged to interview the six applicants who appeared most suitable, taking into account social background, education, intelligence and earnings (which had to be enough to pay the rent). They were to meet me on the premises one evening arriving at half-hourly intervals. The last to appear was a girl I shall call Jean. Aged 25, as she had told me in her letter, she was a pretty brunette on the small side (which I prefer) and with a nice figure. She was dressed to kill in silk shirt and white linen trousers and used all her charms to convince me that she was the ideal tenant I was looking for - quiet in all her habits, very tidy, punctilious in all her money dealings, with excellent references - and also (though of course this should have played no part in any decision) she was very attractive.
"Oh do let it to me" she pleaded, "It's exactly what I want and you've done it up so well." As she spoke she fixed me with a sparkling gaze and the eager expression of a child begging for a sweet.
Other things being equal I usually reward the most attractive applicant - not only physically but with the pleasantest personality. I had been rather taken with two of the other interviewees, both of whom were keen to rent the place, but Jean's enthusiasm swayed me in her favour. It was as though she was trying to will me into accepting her as my tenant. Such determination, I felt, deserved to win - and might also perhaps, make her more willing to pay the price.
"All right," I said, "You've got it. I'll sign you on" It didn't take long to complete the formalities. I had two copies of the printed tenancy agreement with me and we filled them in together, sitting at a table with details of rent, length of lease, method of payment, etc. I made her sign one copy, and also write a cheque and a banker's order in my favour; the cheque for the first month's rent in advance and the order for the monthly installments. I had decided to charge no deposit for once. Jean followed the proceedings with mounting excitement and I sensed her mood of exultation.
She had been searching for six months, she told me, and mine was the first decent place she had seen going at a rent she could afford. To the homeless the acquisition of a home of their own is perhaps the most precious thing in modern life. Much too precious to be given away!
She had done her part and it only remained for me to add my signature to the tenant's copy of the agreement which would entitle her to take possession.
With my pen poised I leaned back in my chair.
"Wait a minute," I said coolly. "There's something we've forgotten."
From joyful anticipation her expression changed to one of surprise and alarm. Was the prize to be snatched away from her grasp at the last minute?
"Forgotten?" she repeated anxiously.
"Yes, the key money."
"Key money? What's that?"
"Haven't you heard of it? In these days no furnished flat changes hands without the payment of key money."
"But what is it for?"
"Oh just a little bonus given to the sitting tenant by the one taking over."
"I see." She sat with eyes lowered, looking dejected, then raised them and asked how much it would be.
"Well it's usually about three months rent on a yearly lease," I replied, "but I'd accept two from you."
"That's another four hundred pounds. I just haven't got it."
Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, and the change in her attitude from jubilation to utter despondency was so tragic that my heart began to soften. However I had made my plan, it had worked so far, and I was resolved to go through with it - or at least put it to the test.
"Too bad," I said, "But perhaps we might come to some arrangement." At this her spirits seemed to revive but she looked at me curiously.
"How do you mean?"
"Well you could pay in kind, couldn't you?"
She looked at me, first in bewilderment, then with understanding, and finally with an expression of contempt.
"So that's the catch," she said angrily. "I suppose that was in the small print you told me I needn't read. But I wish you'd told me sooner. It would have saved me wasting my time."
She got up from the chair where she had been sitting, picked up her bag and, avoiding any glance back at me, headed for the door.
"No, hang on," I said, "That's not the catch. You're jumping to the wrong conclusion. I'm not trying to get you into bed with me, although no doubt that would be very enjoyable."
She turned and glanced towards me, her expression still hostile.
"Then what do you want?"
"Instead of paying me key money I want you to let me spank you."
I expected at least surprise, if not shock, but there was none. It seemed there were few girls who were not au-fait with the erotic context of spanking even if they had no experience of it.
"So that's it," she said coldly. "Another kinky."
"Call it that if you like. Personally I consider myself a perfectly normal man. I have been happily married for more than thirty years, have four grown-up children and a loving relationship with my wife. Spanking is a hobby, that's all. If I spot an attractive bottom I like to explore its.... possibilities, and yours has definitely taken my fancy."
"It seems I'm being blackmailed."
"Oh I wouldn't say that. After all, one good turn deserves another. I rent you the flat, which you're dying to have and you bare that lovely bottom which I'm eager to spank. A fair exchange don't you think? Incidentally has it ever been spanked before?"
"Not since I was a kid. I had a boyfriend who wanted to do it but I wouldn't let him."
"Why not? You might have enjoyed it."
Her nose twitched in distaste. By now she had become more relaxed again. "Well to begin with it would hurt. And then... it's kind of degrading. I mean to be treated like a naughty child."
"Aren't you ever naughty?"
"I don't think so."
"Well haven't you been using your sex appeal to soften me up from the moment you came into this room? Aren't you wearing those skin-tight pants for effect, showing me every inch of that curvaceous bum? Isn't that selling yourself?"
She gave a smirk of self-satisfaction.
"Well, who doesn't - if you've got it, flaunt it. What's wrong with that anyway?"
"Nothing, from your point of view. But I think it's naughty and I'm going to punish you for it - and pretty severely."
"Now hold on. I haven't agreed yet. I'll have to think it over."
"OK but be quick. I promised the other two an answer in 24 hours. Each of them is ready to sign on the dotted line. So you can sleep on it and let me know in the morning."
"Have they agreed to pay this key money?"
I grinned. "I didn't ask them for it."
Her mouth dropped open and her cheeks reddened. "But that's not fair. Why not?"
"Their bottoms held no attraction for me. One was too skinny and the other was too fat. Yours is just right. It's a peach and I'm shameless I know. I can't wait to get my hands on it."
In fact I wouldn't have waited if she'd been wearing a skirt. But it was too much trouble wrenching at trousers so tight you can't get them past the wearer's hips.
She looked at me with an expression halfway between defiance and amusement.
"You'll have to wait. I haven't decided yet."
"Oh yes you have. You're not going to lose the chance of a flat you've been dreaming about for six months just to spare your pretty bottom a good warming up!"
She put out her tongue and nervously licked her lips.
"If I've got to go through with it, I'd rather get it over."
"No chance. Thinking of what is to come is part of your punishment and a hell of a lot of my pleasure. Besides you might change your mind. So ring me in the morning."
As she preceded me towards the front door I had a good view of her rear. Rather small, but plump and perfectly rounded, the two buttocks formed an undulating motion as she walked, alternately raised and lowered in a gentle rhythm. The temptation to touch her was irresistible. When she stopped at the door I laid my hand on the curved surface and let it rest gently. She turned her head sharply and glared at me indignantly, but her lips were trembling and, in a second, broke into a half grin. I knew then that it was in the bag.
The next day, as can be imagined, I didn't get through much work. As expected, Jean phoned me early to say she had accepted my proposal and that I would meet her in the flat that evening. "No trousers please and no tights underneath either," I told her. "Wear your shortest skirt, some nice knickers, a suspender belt and stockings."
For the rest of the day my mind could contain only one thought; that of the moment when the lovely girl would be prostrate across my lap, skirt up and knickers down, proffering her delectable little bottom for the attentions of my palm. However I had not yet decided how far I would go with her.
Although I had plenty of experience of CP it was always in a mild form. I am naturally a rather gentle person and never liked the idea of hurting anybody seriously. In any case the pleasure I take from flagellation derives as much from preparation as execution; overcoming the resistance of the victim, enjoying her act of submission, relishing the dread of the pain, then revelling in her humiliation as, with nerves quivering, she obeys the ritual commands; to take down her knickers, to bend over the table, to spread her legs etc etc. Probably my pleasure reaches its peak when the last garment is removed and the luscious globes are left naked for my eyes to feast on.
Having reached this point of satisfaction I would usually let the girl off lightly, with perhaps a dozen hard smacks of my hand on each of her cheeks, followed by a dozen with the strap covering both of them, and ending with six moderate strokes of the cane. This would leave a hot and smarting bottom, coloured all over a bright pink, but only slightly marked and leaving no lasting discomfiture.
I only once administered a genuine thrashing, and that was to a young divorcee I was having an affair with, who confessed to being unfaithful when I was away one weekend. I made her strip completely and bend over the back of a chair, with her hands grasping the seat; then gave her twelve with a riding switch, using full throttle. Halfway through the punishment she begged for temporary respite, which I refused. However I'd noticed, standing to the left of her, that only her right buttock was marked where the end of the switch curled round her hip. So I made her lie on a sofa with two cushions under her tummy and continued the whipping standing on her right. This evened things out, leaving the whole surface of her bottom aglow and with six livid weals scarring each cheek. They remained visible for several weeks.
The funny thing was that as a result of this encounter the two of us simultaneously fell in love with each other - but that's another story.
To return to Jean, as I said, in administering beatings to submissive females I had always erred on the side of leniency, partly because of a fear of doing injury. I had been told in no uncertain terms by one lovely young lady that I was 'too soft by half' and that women were well padded enough to handle considerably more than I was dishing out, so I decided to try out my new 'hard man' approach on young Jean.
When she arrived at the flat she was wearing one of the shortest miniskirts I had ever seen; it barely reached to the tops of her tautly braced stockings. Her long slender legs ended in high heel shoes. A close-fitting blouse revealed her breasts as small but prominent beneath a bra which was clearly visible through the transparent material. She appeared to be calm but in her demeanour there was also something slightly apprehensive. I had left on the table a copy of our tenancy agreement which awaited my signature and I saw her glance towards it.
"Is that for me?" she enquired.
"No, I haven't signed it yet."
"When are you going to?"
"When you have paid off the key money."
"Which will consist of what?"
"Oh... spanking, some strapping, caning."
She blanched. "How much? I mean how many times?"
"My mood, your reaction, my judgment of what you can take."
She looked tentative. "It sounds pretty open-ended."
"Yes it is. Take it or leave it."
She hesitated. "And-and it's going to hurt me - a lot?"
"Well if it didn't it would be no fun for me. You can back out if you wish. There's still time."
She gave me a long look as if to measure my intentions. I went to a drawer and took out the cane I had bought for the occasion. It was a long, thin flexible instrument, as I demonstrated by making a cut through the air with it.
"Is that what you're going to use on me?" she asked quietly and I nodded.
"OK," she said between gritted teeth, "let's get it over."
I placed a chair in the middle of the room, sat down and beckoned her to approach. She stood beside me and I put my hand under her skirt, feeling first her smooth firm thighs, then sliding my hand between them where they joined at her crotch, lightly fingering the cleft between her buttocks, finally exploring their satiny surface under her snugly clinging briefs.
"Do you really have to do THAT?" she gasped in a strangled voice.
"Just a reccy. Examining the terrain before launching the attack. But we'll have these off."
Using both hands I grasped the waistband of her briefs and pulled them down to her ankles. Without waiting to be told she stepped out of them, leaned down and flicked them away.
"Right," I said, "Now over you go!"
Putting my arm around her waist I tilted her forward and she fell face down across my knees. Her miniskirt, which scarcely covered her bottom, fell with her, revealing the two plump cheeks of as sweet a little bum as any addict could wish for.
The investigation and fondling of the most intimate parts of her body had already aroused me sexually and this was becoming evident. Before settling her over my thighs I freed my erection from the constraint of underwear and allowed it to stand upright inside my flies. With my left hand round her waist I then drew her towards me until her hip was pressed against the bulge, the hard touch of which was doubtless not lost on her.
As Bernard Shaw wrote, when commenting on Frank Harris's pornographic autobiography, the description of one copulation is very like another and the same is true of spanking. Hence I do not propose to give the reader a blow by blow account of the spanking I administered to Jean. I began with my hand, but soon developed a sore palm so I took off my belt which I have used as a strap on many a bare bottom. It is actually an old stirrup leather about two feet long and an inch wide. Doubled in two it carries quite a bit of weight and can be wielded effectively with little more than a flick of the wrist.
With this implement I rapidly transformed the pale surface of Jean's 'moon' into something more resembling the sun, rising or setting, streaked with darker tints where the strap had fallen. I didn't count the number of lashes I gave her, but just went on until I felt that enough was enough. Of course she struggled and kicked and cried, first in protest then in anguish, and tried to protect her burning backside with her hand, but I prevented this by twisting her arm behind her back.
Eventually, realising her helplessness, she resigned herself to the punishment, and the rest of it was carried out without resistance and to the accompaniment of gasps of pain and subdued sobbing.
When at last I finished and released her arm, she didn't try to get up but just lay there weeping quietly and gingerly feeling her burning buttocks. To help cool them I laid my hand on the hot surface and gently began to stroke it. This seemed to have a soothing effect and she stopped crying. After a while I turned her over, at the same time pulling her up, and sat her on my knees with one arm supporting her shoulders and the other caressing her flank. Her eyes were still swimming and her cheeks tear-stained, but the woebegone expression was giving way to one less lugubrious. Perhaps it was just relief that her agony had ended, perhaps some secret satisfaction in the way she'd endured it, perhaps some stranger sensation she didn't fully understand, but she seemed content to stay on my lap and feel my hand underneath her bruised and smarting bottom.
I changed the position of my hand and moved to the warmth of her crotch where my searching became more insistent. Her face flushed, her head dropped on my shoulder, then she lifted her face to mine and our lips met in a passionate kiss.
She withdrew her mouth, met my eyes with hers and whispered, "Have I paid the key money?" I nodded and smiled. "The rest is voluntary," I grinned and she curled up on my lap.
She glanced at the cane, which I had placed on the table beside the tenancy agreement and said, "What about that?"
"Oh that will keep until the next time," I replied cheerfully.
"And you'll sign the agreement?"
"Of course, but I may have to add a clause."
"Which says what?"
"That the tenant places her bottom at the disposal of the landlord whenever he needs access to it."
"I think I'll sign that," she whispered.
"Sensible girl!" I said and folded her into my arms.
This story has been scanned and prepared for the publication on the Internet by Alex Birch