Story from Janus 39.
Playing Games
by R.T. Mason
A pleasant tree-lined suburban street in a quiet southern counties town. It is five o'clock on a warm sunny April afternoon and one or two residents are to be seen in their gardens. Indoors most housewives are starting preparations for the evening meal. At Number 27, though, neat and well-kept like all its neighbours, there is no one in the garden and equally no sign of culinary activity inside. Instead the sole occupant is sitting inactive on a sofa in the sitting room. She has a nervous expectant look on her pretty face. Quite frequently she glances at her wristwatch.
She is wearing schoolgirl uniform. A dark blue blazer with red piping and a red badge, a red-and-blue striped tie, a short pleated blue skirt. Below the bare knees are neat white knee-socks over shapely calves, and sensible brown strap-over shoes. When standing she is of medium height with a trim but well filled out figure. Her hair is blonde, short cut with a fringe, which sets off that pretty face with its at present rather tense expression. Another glance at her watch shows it to be now exactly 5.05.
Outside at exactly 5.05 a car is turning into our pleasant tree-shrouded street. It stops outside Number 27 with something of a jolt – a sign of nervousness or excitement perhaps on the part of the driver? He gets out, glances up and down the street, and then briefcase in hand walks quickly to the gate at Number 27.
Inside, the girl gives a start at the sudden strident ring of the doorbell. She jumps up and smooths down her skirt. By the time she gets to the door it is ringing a second time. The man's face is pinkish and his voice has an excited edge.
'Linda Beckford?'
'Yes... Yes Sir.' Her hand nervously fiddles with a blazer button.
'Truancy Officer. I believe you are expecting me.'
'Yes Sir. C..Come in, Sir.'
She stands aside to let him pass, as she does so pulling back her shoulders so that the firm thrust of her breasts is evident. She closes the door.
'My... my parents are out, Sir. I haven't told them and I was hoping they... they wouldn't have to be told, Sir.''
She leads the way into the sitting room, short skirt swaying above pretty knees and bare thighs. In the sitting room she stands uncertainly, one hand on the back of the sofa.
The man puts his briefcase down. 'Informing your parents is routine procedure, Miss Beckford.'
'I... I know, Sir. But my friend... Her parents weren't told, Sir. She had something else.'
His eyes hold hers. 'What did she have, Linda?'
A nervous lick at the full soft lips. 'A spanking, Sir. She had her bottom spanked.'
The man's heart is thumping. His eyes flick up and down the trim delectable shape. 'And is that what you want, Linda? A spanking?' A pause and then, his voice thick, 'With your knickers down?'
Flush-faced she tosses her head. 'I... I haven't got any on, Sir. No knickers. I took them off.'
The man's face goes bright red. His eyes focus on the short blue skirt. His voice is tight with excitement.
'Show me.'
A moment's hesitation and then her hands go down to the skirt's hem and slowly pull it up. Up the slim bare thighs. On up to finally reveal that there are indeed no knickers. Just a neat bush of brown hair at the centre of quite bare rounded hips. Her eyes fixed on him, she continues to raise the skirt until it reaches her blazer.
He blinks, and coughs. 'Some of you girls nowadays need the cane, not just a spanking. You're all too bold by half.'
Her voice is a half whisper. 'Oh no Sir, not the cane. My friend just got a spanking.' The skirt remains held high.
'I shouldn't do it, I could get into serious trouble.' His eyes remain glued to what she is showing. 'But... are you sure your parents aren't coming back?'
She lets the skirt fall back into place. 'Yes Sir. They're going to my Gran's.'
He moves suddenly, decisively forward, past the pretty blonde girl to sit on the sofa. He beckons her and she comes round and gets down over his lap. He grabs up the short skirt, up round her waist and then arranges her so that the firm, quite plump bottom is squarely over his lap. His hand fondles and she gives a squeal. Then the hand starts coming down. A measured rhythmic action of hard crisp smacks, splatting the pale cheeks which rapidly become a bright rosy red. The girl bucks and squirms, like a landed fish, yelping and gasping. The sounds are those of pain, but also of sexual arousal.
* * *
The spanking continued for some time – until Michael Adamson's arm was feeling exhausted. He stopped spanking to fondle his wife's glowing bottom. 'Did you come?'
Linda made a gurgling sound. 'Mmm... Ooh it was really heavenly!'
Michael made to push her off his lap but she stayed on. Then he asked: 'Are you going to come again?'
'Oh God! I expect so. That was really fabulous!'
Half an hour later Linda Adamson (nee Beckford) was, like all the other domesticated wives in the street, serving her husband's supper. She had prepared it earlier and left it in the oven before putting on the schoolgirl uniform. She and Michael had only got the outfit at the weekend, from another town where Linda had said it was for her niece. Before that for their schoolgirl fantasies they had simply used a blouse and skirt and one of Michael's old ties. Having the real thing made a big difference, especially for Michael who was particularly keen on the schoolgirl scenarios. Today was only the second time they had used the uniform and it had been a fantastic turn-on for both of them.
'Will Linda Beckford be wearing her uniform tomorrow?' Michael asked across the table. Linda had non-removed the blazer but was still in school blouse and tie.
She smiled. 'Perhaps. It is really super. But I still like the housewife scenes of course.'
Michael and Linda were both 23 and had been married for two years. The acted-out CP fantasies had been going on for six month now. Michael had always had an interest in that direction but previously it had been confined to magazines. Then, a bit hesitantly, he had mentioned it to Linda and showed her a couple of the magazines. She laughed and said it was silly – but at the same time looked through them with obvious interest.
'People do it for fun,' Michael told her. 'And it can be a big turn-on.'
Linda again said it was ridiculous and when Michael suggested she let him spank her said it was silly. But she did allow it. Her skirt up over his lap and Michael's hand smacking down across her tight knickers. Afterwards she just laughed but later that night, in bed, she admitted it had been 'very exciting'.
The next time, Michael took her knickers down. 'Imagine I'm your Headmaster at school and you've been sent to him for smoking or something. He's a pompous old chap, seems very straight-laced, but what he really likes is to get a pretty Sixth Former over his lap and get his hand on her bare bum.'
Yes, that really was a turn-on, Linda admitted. And after that she became an enthusiastic partner in the games which more and more became a major part of their love life. Michael liked the schoolgirl fantasies best but Linda, apart from the special excitement of the new schoolgirl outfit, tended usually to prefer scenes which could, in fantasy, relate to her present everyday life. 'Housewife scenes' they called them.
A 'housewife scene', might be a housewife caught shoplifting and being forced to take a spanking or the cane. Or having a minor accident with the car and taking a caning rather than lose a No Claims Bonus. A lot of them were naturally set in the house. The man who came to repair the washing machine offering to take his payment on the pretty housewife's bottom. Or the CP-addicted landlord.
All of these had a great sense of immediacy for Linda because she was a housewife who could have an accident in the car or might be tempted to walk out of the shop with some little item. She could imagine it actually happening. And when they were playing the game and Michael was spanking her or giving her six with that cane he had bought, she could imagine it was not Michael doing it but some other unknown man. That was really quite a thought.
Did that mean she would actually like someone else doing it? Early on in their games when that thought came she had dismissed it out of hand. But it was a big turn-on in the fantasies and those fantasies could be very real at times. And Linda began to wonder what it would be like for it to really happen. Just thinking that, when she was going about her household work for instance, could get her feeling hot and randy.
She had talked about it with Michael. What would he feel if it actually happened? Some other man caning her. Michael was excited by the thought, Linda could see that, but he wouldn't really answer. He just laughed and asked if she was planning to do some shoplifting. But all the same she knew he was excited by the idea. In a way it was the ultimate. But does one want the ultimate? It might be just too much, too exciting and scary to take.
Two weeks after getting the school outfit Linda saw the magazine. Not a CP magazine but a straightforward men's magazine. Her friend Julie showed it to her, apparently Julie's husband had brought it home. Linda had looked through, all those girls with their legs wide apart, but then at the end she saw the contact section. Her heart started pounding as she began to read the entries. One said: Company director would like to give light CP to inexperienced ladies. And there was another: Ladies, would you like massage and a friendly spanking in the privacy of your own home?
There were others too in which women and couples were advertising, but not for CP. Linda had never imagined you could get that sort of advert. Controlling her excitement she asked Julie if she could take the magazine to show Michael.
Julie said, 'Of course; I bet they pass them round at work anyway.'
After supper that evening she showed Michael the magazine and pointed out the two ads. 'Horny buggers,' he observed, then asked, 'What's this?'
Feeling almost as great a sense of excitement as in any of their CP scenes, Linda had handed him a folded piece of paper. Inside she had written: Young husband would like his attractive wife instructed in the pleasures of CP.
'What's this?' Michael repeated.
Linda smiled. Her heart was going at some fantastic rate. 'It's an advert. Wouldn't it make a super one! Just think of all those men out there reading it and really, you know, growling with excitement.'
Michael laughed, his face pink. 'I might even answer it myself!' He grabbed her. 'And just for thinking of it I think you deserve a good spanking right now.'
Michael took her over his lap, pulling up her skirt and yanking down the flimsy knickers. He started cracking his hand down and Linda was almost immediately gasping and groaning with overwhelming excitement. The turn-on was inevitably the thought of the advertisement. That message going out and being read by presumably thousands of unknown men. But of course sending in the ad was only a fantasy. Wasn't it?
* * *
Two days later Michael came home to find Linda in a clearly agitated state. He asked if she wanted to play a game but she shook her head. He poured them gin-and-tonics and they sat on the sofa. He could see her hand was shaking.
He asked what was up. Linda said 'Nothing'. She bit her lip and then started chewing her thumb.
'What's up?' he repeated.
She shook her head, then put it down in his lap. He heard a faint whisper,
'What?'
This time, though still a whisper, it was quite clear. 'I. Sent. In. That. Ad.'
'You what?' he gasped, pulling her upright.
Linda's voice was still a whisper. 'I didn't mean to. It was... it just happened.'
As she haltingly explained it, it had been like living a fantasy out. To amuse herself Linda had written out the ad, following all the instructions and enclosing a postal order. She had sealed it up and had taken it to the post office. She hadn't intended to post it but had simply wanted to savour the feeling of doing so. And then somehow, as if in a dream – or a fantasy, the letter had dropped in the post box.
'My Lord!' breathed Michael.
'It... it's not that bad. It'll have a box number. They won't print our address.'
'But you gave our address? My address, to be correct?'
'Yes,' said Linda in a tiny voice.
What Linda had told Michael was true, it had just happened without her really meaning to post it, but at the same time she had wanted to do it. And now that it was done, although she had to bear Michael's anger there was inside her a hot glow of excitement. To think of that letter winging its way to the magazine's office, its content being read and then printed. And then... It was almost too exciting to contemplate.
When Michael had got over the initial shock he suggested getting in touch with the magazine and telling them to send it back, but Linda quickly argued against that.
'I shouldn't bother,' she told him. 'Anyway I don't know if you can once it's been sent. Just let it go. No one's going to see our name, remember.'
He gave her a hard look. 'You don't want it stopped because you're glad you sent it, aren't you? It'll be a real thrill for you; that'll go out and you'll be able to imagine all those men wanting to get at you. Won't you?'
Linda put her arms round him. It was true of course; even as he spoke she could feel the thrill surging through her. She kissed Michael, a hot sexy kiss; then breathed 'Yes'.
Her hand slid down to his crotch and there was a stiff bulge there. Massaging it, she asked, 'Won't it be a turn-on for you too?'
Michael pursed his lips. It was true, the thought of it was exciting. A scary frightening sort of excitement but a very powerful one nonetheless.
Linda put her mouth to his ear. Shivering, she said, 'I bet we get lots of replies.'
Michael didn't answer but instead pulled his wife over his lap. Linda's skirt came up and her brief knickers went down and he began the now familiar but ever-arousing splatting of his hand down on her saucily plump bottom. This time, though, it was extra special, better even than that first time with the school uniform, or any of their various housewife scenes. Because for both there was the feeling that though Michael was doing it, it could be someone else. Any one of those waiting men out there. Unknowing at this moment, but who in a few weeks' time would buy a copy of the magazine.
The heady excitement continued unabated as they waited for the next issue. Linda even rang the magazine office to find out when it was due out. Michael finally saw it one Thursday lunch-time. With fumbling fingers he took it off the rack and leafed through. He felt himself sweating: there it was all right. No typographical errors or anything, just as Linda had sent it in. There was a box number but his eyes seemed to see instead his own address printed there. And a picture of Linda. Standing in her uniform, her skirt raised to her waist.
At home he wordlessly handed it to Linda. She scrabbled frantically to the ads section. Her eyes scanned, focused – then looked up to meet Michael's. She dropped the magazine and hugged him. They were both thinking the same thing: how long before the letters were popping through the door?
They agreed it could be something like a week as the replies would have to be re-addressed and sent on. But if the office waited until there was a batch of replies it could be longer. The post in the week always came after Michael had gone off to work but Linda said she would phone him as soon as there was an answer.
* * *
The first ones came after six days; a fat envelope falling heavily on the hall carpet. Linda ripped it open to find it contained three letters. Heart thudding, she opened one and unfolded the sheet of notepaper. She was so excited that at first she had trouble putting the words together.
Dear Sir,
I am writing in answer to your advertisement. I am sure I could help if there is not a catch, I mean I would not want to get involved in any threesomes as I am purely heterosexual. But if you would merely like to watch that would be alright. I would do exactly as you wanted with her, the cane, tawse, etc. I am well experienced with all of these, not vicious but strict.
I am aged 60 and I assure you, highly respectable. I look forward to hearing from you to arrange a meeting. Perhaps you could send a photograph of your good lady.
Linda read it again, feeling slightly sick with the intense excitement. She pictured the man, silver-haired perhaps with a military moustache. Formally shaking hands with her – and then telling her to take her skirt and knickers off. She went on to the second envelope. It contained a photo of a smiling youngish man, not bad-looking. She read the letter.
Dear Sir,
I am replying to your ad regarding wife discipline. I am aged 30, a bachelor, interested in the arts and music etc, but also with experience of CP discipline. I attended Public School! I should love to meet you and your wife with a view to assisting disciplining her.
Obviously gay, Linda told herself – and then wondered what it would be like anyway to be over his lap with her knickers down. She tore open the last letter.
Dear Sir,
I am pleased to answer your advert and you are quite right to want to get your wife properly trained and disciplined. Young women these days can so easily go off the rails and get involved in all sorts of adultery and suchlike goings on. A good sharp caning is what they need and I should be more than pleased to assist you. I am very experienced in such matters as I used to be a schoolmaster. Can we arrange an early meeting? Everything would naturally be in the strictest confidence.
Her head in a spin Linda went to make herself a cup of coffee, then sat down to re-read the letters. She looked again at the photo, and pictured the other two. Three unknown men who were offering their services – to cane and spank her. And there were their addresses, real live addresses: London, Birmingham and Banfield in Essex. Two of them had telephone numbers. Linda suddenly thought, I could hide one of the letters, not show it to Michael. Even get on the phone right now and arrange a meeting. Take the train, to London or Birmingham... And then...
The excitement was too much. Linda lay back on the sofa letting the letters fall to the floor and her dress rise up her elegant legs. She just had to let off some of the pressure. Only when she finished, in about two minutes flat, did she remember her promise to phone Michael if any letters arrived.
She called him, a breathless voice telling him they'd had some answers. Michael asked how many. A pause and then she heard herself say 'Two'. It just came out on the spur of the moment.
'One from Birmingham and one from somewhere in Essex. The Birmingham one sounds as if he's gay.'
It was like that business with posting the letter all over again. Linda didn't really mean to lie to Michael and there was no real reason to – except a sudden urge to keep part of it secret. She didn't plan to do anything about it, but the thought of having a special secret was irresistible. A private fantasy that she could keep all to herself.
She had picked the first one, from London. Was it just chance? Or the thought that she could at least fantasize about going there; it would only be half an hour on the train. When Michael got home he was really turned-on as well – at least by the schoolmaster one – and they acted out a fantasy of Linda going to visit him. It was really great for both of them.
Two days later there was another batch – ten this time. They were mostly similar to the first ones except two were a bit obscene. It was great reading them, including the randy ones, but once she had Linda took out that special London one again. She had looked at it perhaps 20 times since it came – and yesterday she had gone out and bought a London A-Z to see exactly where the address was on the map. It continued to constantly excite her – the thought of that particular oldish man and Michael didn't know about. And more and more Linda was feeling the urge to do something else – to call that phone number at the top of his letter.
One half of her said it was stupid to even consider it – while the other half said it couldn't do any harm just to phone. He would have no way of contacting her so she was quite safe, and anyway he would possibly be out. She kept telling herself it was quite quite stupid – but half an hour after finishing reading that second batch of letters Linda picked up the phone.
A man's voice said, 'Stanley Appleton'. That was the name on the letter. Linda's heart almost stopped.
'Uh... hello,' she said weakly.
He repeated the name. 'Who is that, please?' It was an ordinary educated man's voice, well-spoken with no real accent. She forced herself to speak.
'My... my name's Linda. You... you answered an ad my husband put... in a magazine.'
A pause and then, 'Yes!' The voice was eager now. 'Yes I certainly did. Well, how do you do, uh, Linda. This is a marvellous surprise.'
'My... my husband asked me to call.' Linda felt slightly more in control now, although her feelings were still in a wild lurch. She reminded herself that she was anonymous. There was no way he could find out who she was.
His voice sounded excited. 'I'm so glad you called. I was half afraid... well, a lot of those ads are simply jokes of course. Can we arrange a meeting?'
Linda felt her blood pounding. A meeting so that he could take her knickers down. She didn't really know what to say. 'It... it's very difficult. It was partly a joke but also partly, you know, serious. The trouble is, I mean, with an absolute stranger we, that is I, wouldn't know... what I was getting into. You hear... such awful things nowadays.'
He started eagerly assuring Linda of his credentials, she and her husband need have absolutely no fear, he would do simply what she wanted, what her husband wanted. Sitting listening to all this was a heady turn-on, knowing what this stranger was talking about. Spanking her; caning her. But clearly a meeting was out of the question. He sounded all right but he could easily do something awful. Murder her?
She told him that and said her husband had had second thoughts about the whole thing. Mr Appleton got very persuasive, telling her she had absolutely nothing to fear. He would simply like to meet her; she had such a lovely voice. Finally he suggested meeting in a restaurant, in public, so that if she wanted she would simply leave afterwards.
There was a longish pause. At the end of it Linda heard herself say, 'All right'. It was another of those moments when she seemed to have no real control over what she was doing.
When Michael came home and asked if there had been any more letters Linda realised with a shock that she had virtually forgotten about them. All day her mind had been concentrated on that phone call and what she had agreed – to meet Mr Appleton tomorrow in London. After she had rung off it had seemed like a dream. Could she really have rung him up? And agreed to a meeting? How could she be so utterly idiotic, Linda asked herself 100 times afterwards. But at least there was the let-out that she didn't have to turn up. She hadn't told him her name or address.
Michael began reading all the letters through and was obviously getting a big kick out of them. Linda tried to sound equally interested but the fact was she had now gone beyond those mere fantasies. She was contemplating the prospect of the real thing. It was an entirely different feeling – like the thought of parachuting out of an aircraft for the first time. An empty queasy feeling in her stomach.
Linda kept telling herself she didn't have to turn up – but she knew she would.
* * *
In the morning Linda's head felt as if it was going to split. 'Why don't you take the day off?' she asked Michael as she got his breakfast.
He looked up in surprise. 'Why?'
'Oh I don't know,' she said forlornly. 'We could go out somewhere. All those letters – they're a bit much really.'
He grinned. 'You shouldn't have sent that ad off then, should you? I bet there'll be a lot more yet. Anyway I can't take today off, I've got a lot to do.'
Why Linda had suggested it, of course, was that it would prevent her keeping the appointment. Without that to stop her she knew she would go. She kissed Michael goodbye and ran a bath. She felt awful – all excited and scared at the same time. Linda had her bath and then, rather like a condemned person who has no control over his life, she began to get dressed.
A rather sexy set of mauve underwear: bra, French knickers and a lacy suspender belt; not that he was going to see it. Was he? Trying to keep calm she drew on a pair of shimmery grey nylons and fastened them. A white blouse and then her blue-grey suit. It had a quite short but tight skirt, too tight to be pulled up. But she wasn't going to get into that, was she? She was only going to the restaurant. If she even did that. Linda put on some make-up; not much, a little pink lipstick, some eye-shadow. She slipped on her high-heeled court shoes and her light coat. She felt awful.
Linda found the restaurant without trouble, in a busyish West London street. Looking at her watch she saw she was right on time as she entered. Short blonde hair, she had told him, grey coat, blue shoes and handbag. He came up to her immediately.
'Hello... uh, Linda? We forgot your surname on the phone. But I think I'm meeting you?'
He looked all right. There was silver hair but no moustache. Tallish, average build, a sort of ordinary face, quite pleasant. Not the face of a rapist or murderer – but could you tell? Linda heard herself say Hello. He directed her over to a corner table. His hand on her arm was firm, masculine, masterful. Linda shivered.
She sat down. 'Really I can't stay long. It... It's all been very foolish, the whole thing. I don't know what got into me posting that ad.'
'So you posted it, not your husband?'
The waitress fortunately arrived at that point but as soon as she had left he repeated the question. Linda heard herself mumble a Yes.
'Spanking?' He had rather nice biue-grey eyes but they had a way of seeming to look right into you.
'Look...' she pleaded.
'Spanking? And caning?' His voice had a precise quality, the voice of someone used to being in charge. In charge of what, though? Silly-minded young females? His eyes were looking right into her again and there seemed no way she could deny it. 'Had it from anyone besides your husband?'
'No!'
He smiled: a look of pleased anticipation. 'You really are a very pretty girl, Linda. And I must certainly be a very fortunate man.'
* * *
A good meal and a taxi ride later Linda was entering Mr Appleton's flat. She didn't know how she had let herself be persuaded, but she had. Here she was, her heart in her mouth, her head spinning. Mr Appleton closed the door and took her coat. She was led into a room, an attractively furnished lounge, but Linda's eyes hardly saw it. Her mind was incapable of taking in anything beyond the central fact that somehow she was here alone with Mr Appleton.
By the very act of coming here of course it now had to be accepted that something would happen. Mr Appleton himself clearly accepted that. He had done all the persuading that needed doing and now he was in control. He did not invite Linda to sit down because he didn't want her sitting down. Instead as she stood on shaky legs he put a possessive arm round her waist. And then slid his hand down to cup the cheeks of her bottom.
Linda gave a jump like a scalded cat. Mr Appleton laughed: a confident masculine laugh.
'No need to be jumpy, my dear. You know that's the part of you that has to be attended to. Now then, this charming skirt does seem rather tight. I think you'd better take it off, don't you?'
'Look...' she began.
'No, you look, Linda. You've come here for something even though you may not like to admit it. A little adventure? Well I'm going to give you the adventure. All you have to do is exactly as I say.' His hand came up to Linda's chin forcing her to look at him. 'Take off your skirt. And then your knickers.'
The full mouth started trembling, the eyes filled with tears. Now the crunch had come she only felt sick and scared.
Mr Appleton laughed again. 'What pretty tears. But if you won't take them off I'll do it for you.'
His hands moved to her waist. Linda stumbled away, hesitated, and then scarcely knowing what she was doing began fumbling at her skirt. She stepped out of it and stood forlornly in her sexy underwear: the mauve French knickers, the slim straps of the suspender belt tautly fastening the grey nylons.
'Lovely,' observed Mr Appleton. 'And now the panties, my dear.'
Linda gave another despairing look. This couldn't be happening, could it? Please let it be a dream, a fantasy, one of those lovely games. But somehow she knew it wasn't. This was real. She had taken the parachute jump. She was in the hands of Mr Appleton, for him to do with as he wanted. Feeling faint and very shaky she fumbled her knickers down. Down the nyloned legs and off over her blue court shoes. Mr Appleton took her arm.
Linda was over his lap. His hand was fondling her bare buttocks. Not a fantasy hand but a flesh-and-blood stranger's hand. Fondling and then abruptly spanking. Hard jolting smacks on her quivering bare bottom. The panicky thought came that she was actually going to be sick.
Somehow she wasn't. She simply yielded herself up to him for discipline and let him do what he wanted. Some time later Mr Appleton was hauling her to her feet. Linda's legs didn't want to support her, they felt like jelly and she had to hang on to him. Her bottom was glowing red hot. Her face was wet with tears.
'Did you enjoy that?' Mr Appleton asked.
Linda shook her head. It meant she didn't know, couldn't answer, rather than simply No. She was utterly devastated.
'Now the cane,' he said crisply.
In the state she was in it took some seconds for it to register. When it did Linda again shook her head, this time violently.
'NO... NO! It... It'll mark me. Michael... my husband... He'll see...'
Mr Appleton, sharp eyes glinting, considered this. 'All right. Certainly we don't want unnecessary problems at this very start of our relationship. I'll strap you instead. Strap marks don't last.'
From somewhere he produced a strap. A frightening-looking two-tongued brown leather tawse. Linda's eyes fixed on it, mesmerised. Michael had never used a strap.
'Lie over the arm of the sofa. And get your bottom well up.'
For a few moments the world stopped. She had her face in the cushion of the sofa and it felt cosy and reassuring. You could forget that your bare bottom was arched up. Waiting.
SPLATT!..
It was as if she had been slashed in two. Linda let out a banshee-like yell. The pain was of quite a different order of magnitude from anything she had ever experienced before. Nothing at all like Michael's canings which did no more than produce a moderate sting. Linda was still gasping in shock and disbelief when: SPLATT!.. the strap landed again.
'NO!' she heard herself gasp. 'No. I can't take it!'
But the strap simply splatted down again.
And again. And again.
* * *
6.15pm. Michael's car turned into the street to pull up outside Number 27. Inside, Linda was silently waiting, trying to keep calm, to act normal. But how could you? After that. She glanced again in her compact mirror, sure that something of what had happened must show on her face. Her bottom would certainly be showing it for the next 24 hours at least – but hopefully she could keep that out of sight, say she didn't feel well. That would be no more than the truth. She felt shattered, flattened, as if a steam-roller had run over her.
Perhaps if I can get through this evening I can sort things out, she thought. After a good night's sleep, if she could get to sleep, she could try to think it all through with a clear head. If only it had all been in her mind, one of those delicious games. But Linda knew it wasn't: it wasn't a game, a fantasy. Mr Appleton was very very real. And now he had her name and address and phone number – and anything else you cared to mention.
She heard Michael's key in the door.
Playing Games
by R.T. Mason
A pleasant tree-lined suburban street in a quiet southern counties town. It is five o'clock on a warm sunny April afternoon and one or two residents are to be seen in their gardens. Indoors most housewives are starting preparations for the evening meal. At Number 27, though, neat and well-kept like all its neighbours, there is no one in the garden and equally no sign of culinary activity inside. Instead the sole occupant is sitting inactive on a sofa in the sitting room. She has a nervous expectant look on her pretty face. Quite frequently she glances at her wristwatch.
She is wearing schoolgirl uniform. A dark blue blazer with red piping and a red badge, a red-and-blue striped tie, a short pleated blue skirt. Below the bare knees are neat white knee-socks over shapely calves, and sensible brown strap-over shoes. When standing she is of medium height with a trim but well filled out figure. Her hair is blonde, short cut with a fringe, which sets off that pretty face with its at present rather tense expression. Another glance at her watch shows it to be now exactly 5.05.
Outside at exactly 5.05 a car is turning into our pleasant tree-shrouded street. It stops outside Number 27 with something of a jolt – a sign of nervousness or excitement perhaps on the part of the driver? He gets out, glances up and down the street, and then briefcase in hand walks quickly to the gate at Number 27.
Inside, the girl gives a start at the sudden strident ring of the doorbell. She jumps up and smooths down her skirt. By the time she gets to the door it is ringing a second time. The man's face is pinkish and his voice has an excited edge.
'Linda Beckford?'
'Yes... Yes Sir.' Her hand nervously fiddles with a blazer button.
'Truancy Officer. I believe you are expecting me.'
'Yes Sir. C..Come in, Sir.'
She stands aside to let him pass, as she does so pulling back her shoulders so that the firm thrust of her breasts is evident. She closes the door.
'My... my parents are out, Sir. I haven't told them and I was hoping they... they wouldn't have to be told, Sir.''
She leads the way into the sitting room, short skirt swaying above pretty knees and bare thighs. In the sitting room she stands uncertainly, one hand on the back of the sofa.
The man puts his briefcase down. 'Informing your parents is routine procedure, Miss Beckford.'
'I... I know, Sir. But my friend... Her parents weren't told, Sir. She had something else.'
His eyes hold hers. 'What did she have, Linda?'
A nervous lick at the full soft lips. 'A spanking, Sir. She had her bottom spanked.'
The man's heart is thumping. His eyes flick up and down the trim delectable shape. 'And is that what you want, Linda? A spanking?' A pause and then, his voice thick, 'With your knickers down?'
Flush-faced she tosses her head. 'I... I haven't got any on, Sir. No knickers. I took them off.'
The man's face goes bright red. His eyes focus on the short blue skirt. His voice is tight with excitement.
'Show me.'
A moment's hesitation and then her hands go down to the skirt's hem and slowly pull it up. Up the slim bare thighs. On up to finally reveal that there are indeed no knickers. Just a neat bush of brown hair at the centre of quite bare rounded hips. Her eyes fixed on him, she continues to raise the skirt until it reaches her blazer.
He blinks, and coughs. 'Some of you girls nowadays need the cane, not just a spanking. You're all too bold by half.'
Her voice is a half whisper. 'Oh no Sir, not the cane. My friend just got a spanking.' The skirt remains held high.
'I shouldn't do it, I could get into serious trouble.' His eyes remain glued to what she is showing. 'But... are you sure your parents aren't coming back?'
She lets the skirt fall back into place. 'Yes Sir. They're going to my Gran's.'
He moves suddenly, decisively forward, past the pretty blonde girl to sit on the sofa. He beckons her and she comes round and gets down over his lap. He grabs up the short skirt, up round her waist and then arranges her so that the firm, quite plump bottom is squarely over his lap. His hand fondles and she gives a squeal. Then the hand starts coming down. A measured rhythmic action of hard crisp smacks, splatting the pale cheeks which rapidly become a bright rosy red. The girl bucks and squirms, like a landed fish, yelping and gasping. The sounds are those of pain, but also of sexual arousal.
* * *
The spanking continued for some time – until Michael Adamson's arm was feeling exhausted. He stopped spanking to fondle his wife's glowing bottom. 'Did you come?'
Linda made a gurgling sound. 'Mmm... Ooh it was really heavenly!'
Michael made to push her off his lap but she stayed on. Then he asked: 'Are you going to come again?'
'Oh God! I expect so. That was really fabulous!'
Half an hour later Linda Adamson (nee Beckford) was, like all the other domesticated wives in the street, serving her husband's supper. She had prepared it earlier and left it in the oven before putting on the schoolgirl uniform. She and Michael had only got the outfit at the weekend, from another town where Linda had said it was for her niece. Before that for their schoolgirl fantasies they had simply used a blouse and skirt and one of Michael's old ties. Having the real thing made a big difference, especially for Michael who was particularly keen on the schoolgirl scenarios. Today was only the second time they had used the uniform and it had been a fantastic turn-on for both of them.
'Will Linda Beckford be wearing her uniform tomorrow?' Michael asked across the table. Linda had non-removed the blazer but was still in school blouse and tie.
She smiled. 'Perhaps. It is really super. But I still like the housewife scenes of course.'
Michael and Linda were both 23 and had been married for two years. The acted-out CP fantasies had been going on for six month now. Michael had always had an interest in that direction but previously it had been confined to magazines. Then, a bit hesitantly, he had mentioned it to Linda and showed her a couple of the magazines. She laughed and said it was silly – but at the same time looked through them with obvious interest.
'People do it for fun,' Michael told her. 'And it can be a big turn-on.'
Linda again said it was ridiculous and when Michael suggested she let him spank her said it was silly. But she did allow it. Her skirt up over his lap and Michael's hand smacking down across her tight knickers. Afterwards she just laughed but later that night, in bed, she admitted it had been 'very exciting'.
The next time, Michael took her knickers down. 'Imagine I'm your Headmaster at school and you've been sent to him for smoking or something. He's a pompous old chap, seems very straight-laced, but what he really likes is to get a pretty Sixth Former over his lap and get his hand on her bare bum.'
Yes, that really was a turn-on, Linda admitted. And after that she became an enthusiastic partner in the games which more and more became a major part of their love life. Michael liked the schoolgirl fantasies best but Linda, apart from the special excitement of the new schoolgirl outfit, tended usually to prefer scenes which could, in fantasy, relate to her present everyday life. 'Housewife scenes' they called them.
A 'housewife scene', might be a housewife caught shoplifting and being forced to take a spanking or the cane. Or having a minor accident with the car and taking a caning rather than lose a No Claims Bonus. A lot of them were naturally set in the house. The man who came to repair the washing machine offering to take his payment on the pretty housewife's bottom. Or the CP-addicted landlord.
All of these had a great sense of immediacy for Linda because she was a housewife who could have an accident in the car or might be tempted to walk out of the shop with some little item. She could imagine it actually happening. And when they were playing the game and Michael was spanking her or giving her six with that cane he had bought, she could imagine it was not Michael doing it but some other unknown man. That was really quite a thought.
Did that mean she would actually like someone else doing it? Early on in their games when that thought came she had dismissed it out of hand. But it was a big turn-on in the fantasies and those fantasies could be very real at times. And Linda began to wonder what it would be like for it to really happen. Just thinking that, when she was going about her household work for instance, could get her feeling hot and randy.
She had talked about it with Michael. What would he feel if it actually happened? Some other man caning her. Michael was excited by the thought, Linda could see that, but he wouldn't really answer. He just laughed and asked if she was planning to do some shoplifting. But all the same she knew he was excited by the idea. In a way it was the ultimate. But does one want the ultimate? It might be just too much, too exciting and scary to take.
Two weeks after getting the school outfit Linda saw the magazine. Not a CP magazine but a straightforward men's magazine. Her friend Julie showed it to her, apparently Julie's husband had brought it home. Linda had looked through, all those girls with their legs wide apart, but then at the end she saw the contact section. Her heart started pounding as she began to read the entries. One said: Company director would like to give light CP to inexperienced ladies. And there was another: Ladies, would you like massage and a friendly spanking in the privacy of your own home?
There were others too in which women and couples were advertising, but not for CP. Linda had never imagined you could get that sort of advert. Controlling her excitement she asked Julie if she could take the magazine to show Michael.
Julie said, 'Of course; I bet they pass them round at work anyway.'
After supper that evening she showed Michael the magazine and pointed out the two ads. 'Horny buggers,' he observed, then asked, 'What's this?'
Feeling almost as great a sense of excitement as in any of their CP scenes, Linda had handed him a folded piece of paper. Inside she had written: Young husband would like his attractive wife instructed in the pleasures of CP.
'What's this?' Michael repeated.
Linda smiled. Her heart was going at some fantastic rate. 'It's an advert. Wouldn't it make a super one! Just think of all those men out there reading it and really, you know, growling with excitement.'
Michael laughed, his face pink. 'I might even answer it myself!' He grabbed her. 'And just for thinking of it I think you deserve a good spanking right now.'
Michael took her over his lap, pulling up her skirt and yanking down the flimsy knickers. He started cracking his hand down and Linda was almost immediately gasping and groaning with overwhelming excitement. The turn-on was inevitably the thought of the advertisement. That message going out and being read by presumably thousands of unknown men. But of course sending in the ad was only a fantasy. Wasn't it?
* * *
Two days later Michael came home to find Linda in a clearly agitated state. He asked if she wanted to play a game but she shook her head. He poured them gin-and-tonics and they sat on the sofa. He could see her hand was shaking.
He asked what was up. Linda said 'Nothing'. She bit her lip and then started chewing her thumb.
'What's up?' he repeated.
She shook her head, then put it down in his lap. He heard a faint whisper,
'What?'
This time, though still a whisper, it was quite clear. 'I. Sent. In. That. Ad.'
'You what?' he gasped, pulling her upright.
Linda's voice was still a whisper. 'I didn't mean to. It was... it just happened.'
As she haltingly explained it, it had been like living a fantasy out. To amuse herself Linda had written out the ad, following all the instructions and enclosing a postal order. She had sealed it up and had taken it to the post office. She hadn't intended to post it but had simply wanted to savour the feeling of doing so. And then somehow, as if in a dream – or a fantasy, the letter had dropped in the post box.
'My Lord!' breathed Michael.
'It... it's not that bad. It'll have a box number. They won't print our address.'
'But you gave our address? My address, to be correct?'
'Yes,' said Linda in a tiny voice.
What Linda had told Michael was true, it had just happened without her really meaning to post it, but at the same time she had wanted to do it. And now that it was done, although she had to bear Michael's anger there was inside her a hot glow of excitement. To think of that letter winging its way to the magazine's office, its content being read and then printed. And then... It was almost too exciting to contemplate.
When Michael had got over the initial shock he suggested getting in touch with the magazine and telling them to send it back, but Linda quickly argued against that.
'I shouldn't bother,' she told him. 'Anyway I don't know if you can once it's been sent. Just let it go. No one's going to see our name, remember.'
He gave her a hard look. 'You don't want it stopped because you're glad you sent it, aren't you? It'll be a real thrill for you; that'll go out and you'll be able to imagine all those men wanting to get at you. Won't you?'
Linda put her arms round him. It was true of course; even as he spoke she could feel the thrill surging through her. She kissed Michael, a hot sexy kiss; then breathed 'Yes'.
Her hand slid down to his crotch and there was a stiff bulge there. Massaging it, she asked, 'Won't it be a turn-on for you too?'
Michael pursed his lips. It was true, the thought of it was exciting. A scary frightening sort of excitement but a very powerful one nonetheless.
Linda put her mouth to his ear. Shivering, she said, 'I bet we get lots of replies.'
Michael didn't answer but instead pulled his wife over his lap. Linda's skirt came up and her brief knickers went down and he began the now familiar but ever-arousing splatting of his hand down on her saucily plump bottom. This time, though, it was extra special, better even than that first time with the school uniform, or any of their various housewife scenes. Because for both there was the feeling that though Michael was doing it, it could be someone else. Any one of those waiting men out there. Unknowing at this moment, but who in a few weeks' time would buy a copy of the magazine.
The heady excitement continued unabated as they waited for the next issue. Linda even rang the magazine office to find out when it was due out. Michael finally saw it one Thursday lunch-time. With fumbling fingers he took it off the rack and leafed through. He felt himself sweating: there it was all right. No typographical errors or anything, just as Linda had sent it in. There was a box number but his eyes seemed to see instead his own address printed there. And a picture of Linda. Standing in her uniform, her skirt raised to her waist.
At home he wordlessly handed it to Linda. She scrabbled frantically to the ads section. Her eyes scanned, focused – then looked up to meet Michael's. She dropped the magazine and hugged him. They were both thinking the same thing: how long before the letters were popping through the door?
They agreed it could be something like a week as the replies would have to be re-addressed and sent on. But if the office waited until there was a batch of replies it could be longer. The post in the week always came after Michael had gone off to work but Linda said she would phone him as soon as there was an answer.
* * *
The first ones came after six days; a fat envelope falling heavily on the hall carpet. Linda ripped it open to find it contained three letters. Heart thudding, she opened one and unfolded the sheet of notepaper. She was so excited that at first she had trouble putting the words together.
Dear Sir,
I am writing in answer to your advertisement. I am sure I could help if there is not a catch, I mean I would not want to get involved in any threesomes as I am purely heterosexual. But if you would merely like to watch that would be alright. I would do exactly as you wanted with her, the cane, tawse, etc. I am well experienced with all of these, not vicious but strict.
I am aged 60 and I assure you, highly respectable. I look forward to hearing from you to arrange a meeting. Perhaps you could send a photograph of your good lady.
Linda read it again, feeling slightly sick with the intense excitement. She pictured the man, silver-haired perhaps with a military moustache. Formally shaking hands with her – and then telling her to take her skirt and knickers off. She went on to the second envelope. It contained a photo of a smiling youngish man, not bad-looking. She read the letter.
Dear Sir,
I am replying to your ad regarding wife discipline. I am aged 30, a bachelor, interested in the arts and music etc, but also with experience of CP discipline. I attended Public School! I should love to meet you and your wife with a view to assisting disciplining her.
Obviously gay, Linda told herself – and then wondered what it would be like anyway to be over his lap with her knickers down. She tore open the last letter.
Dear Sir,
I am pleased to answer your advert and you are quite right to want to get your wife properly trained and disciplined. Young women these days can so easily go off the rails and get involved in all sorts of adultery and suchlike goings on. A good sharp caning is what they need and I should be more than pleased to assist you. I am very experienced in such matters as I used to be a schoolmaster. Can we arrange an early meeting? Everything would naturally be in the strictest confidence.
Her head in a spin Linda went to make herself a cup of coffee, then sat down to re-read the letters. She looked again at the photo, and pictured the other two. Three unknown men who were offering their services – to cane and spank her. And there were their addresses, real live addresses: London, Birmingham and Banfield in Essex. Two of them had telephone numbers. Linda suddenly thought, I could hide one of the letters, not show it to Michael. Even get on the phone right now and arrange a meeting. Take the train, to London or Birmingham... And then...
The excitement was too much. Linda lay back on the sofa letting the letters fall to the floor and her dress rise up her elegant legs. She just had to let off some of the pressure. Only when she finished, in about two minutes flat, did she remember her promise to phone Michael if any letters arrived.
She called him, a breathless voice telling him they'd had some answers. Michael asked how many. A pause and then she heard herself say 'Two'. It just came out on the spur of the moment.
'One from Birmingham and one from somewhere in Essex. The Birmingham one sounds as if he's gay.'
It was like that business with posting the letter all over again. Linda didn't really mean to lie to Michael and there was no real reason to – except a sudden urge to keep part of it secret. She didn't plan to do anything about it, but the thought of having a special secret was irresistible. A private fantasy that she could keep all to herself.
She had picked the first one, from London. Was it just chance? Or the thought that she could at least fantasize about going there; it would only be half an hour on the train. When Michael got home he was really turned-on as well – at least by the schoolmaster one – and they acted out a fantasy of Linda going to visit him. It was really great for both of them.
Two days later there was another batch – ten this time. They were mostly similar to the first ones except two were a bit obscene. It was great reading them, including the randy ones, but once she had Linda took out that special London one again. She had looked at it perhaps 20 times since it came – and yesterday she had gone out and bought a London A-Z to see exactly where the address was on the map. It continued to constantly excite her – the thought of that particular oldish man and Michael didn't know about. And more and more Linda was feeling the urge to do something else – to call that phone number at the top of his letter.
One half of her said it was stupid to even consider it – while the other half said it couldn't do any harm just to phone. He would have no way of contacting her so she was quite safe, and anyway he would possibly be out. She kept telling herself it was quite quite stupid – but half an hour after finishing reading that second batch of letters Linda picked up the phone.
A man's voice said, 'Stanley Appleton'. That was the name on the letter. Linda's heart almost stopped.
'Uh... hello,' she said weakly.
He repeated the name. 'Who is that, please?' It was an ordinary educated man's voice, well-spoken with no real accent. She forced herself to speak.
'My... my name's Linda. You... you answered an ad my husband put... in a magazine.'
A pause and then, 'Yes!' The voice was eager now. 'Yes I certainly did. Well, how do you do, uh, Linda. This is a marvellous surprise.'
'My... my husband asked me to call.' Linda felt slightly more in control now, although her feelings were still in a wild lurch. She reminded herself that she was anonymous. There was no way he could find out who she was.
His voice sounded excited. 'I'm so glad you called. I was half afraid... well, a lot of those ads are simply jokes of course. Can we arrange a meeting?'
Linda felt her blood pounding. A meeting so that he could take her knickers down. She didn't really know what to say. 'It... it's very difficult. It was partly a joke but also partly, you know, serious. The trouble is, I mean, with an absolute stranger we, that is I, wouldn't know... what I was getting into. You hear... such awful things nowadays.'
He started eagerly assuring Linda of his credentials, she and her husband need have absolutely no fear, he would do simply what she wanted, what her husband wanted. Sitting listening to all this was a heady turn-on, knowing what this stranger was talking about. Spanking her; caning her. But clearly a meeting was out of the question. He sounded all right but he could easily do something awful. Murder her?
She told him that and said her husband had had second thoughts about the whole thing. Mr Appleton got very persuasive, telling her she had absolutely nothing to fear. He would simply like to meet her; she had such a lovely voice. Finally he suggested meeting in a restaurant, in public, so that if she wanted she would simply leave afterwards.
There was a longish pause. At the end of it Linda heard herself say, 'All right'. It was another of those moments when she seemed to have no real control over what she was doing.
When Michael came home and asked if there had been any more letters Linda realised with a shock that she had virtually forgotten about them. All day her mind had been concentrated on that phone call and what she had agreed – to meet Mr Appleton tomorrow in London. After she had rung off it had seemed like a dream. Could she really have rung him up? And agreed to a meeting? How could she be so utterly idiotic, Linda asked herself 100 times afterwards. But at least there was the let-out that she didn't have to turn up. She hadn't told him her name or address.
Michael began reading all the letters through and was obviously getting a big kick out of them. Linda tried to sound equally interested but the fact was she had now gone beyond those mere fantasies. She was contemplating the prospect of the real thing. It was an entirely different feeling – like the thought of parachuting out of an aircraft for the first time. An empty queasy feeling in her stomach.
Linda kept telling herself she didn't have to turn up – but she knew she would.
* * *
In the morning Linda's head felt as if it was going to split. 'Why don't you take the day off?' she asked Michael as she got his breakfast.
He looked up in surprise. 'Why?'
'Oh I don't know,' she said forlornly. 'We could go out somewhere. All those letters – they're a bit much really.'
He grinned. 'You shouldn't have sent that ad off then, should you? I bet there'll be a lot more yet. Anyway I can't take today off, I've got a lot to do.'
Why Linda had suggested it, of course, was that it would prevent her keeping the appointment. Without that to stop her she knew she would go. She kissed Michael goodbye and ran a bath. She felt awful – all excited and scared at the same time. Linda had her bath and then, rather like a condemned person who has no control over his life, she began to get dressed.
A rather sexy set of mauve underwear: bra, French knickers and a lacy suspender belt; not that he was going to see it. Was he? Trying to keep calm she drew on a pair of shimmery grey nylons and fastened them. A white blouse and then her blue-grey suit. It had a quite short but tight skirt, too tight to be pulled up. But she wasn't going to get into that, was she? She was only going to the restaurant. If she even did that. Linda put on some make-up; not much, a little pink lipstick, some eye-shadow. She slipped on her high-heeled court shoes and her light coat. She felt awful.
Linda found the restaurant without trouble, in a busyish West London street. Looking at her watch she saw she was right on time as she entered. Short blonde hair, she had told him, grey coat, blue shoes and handbag. He came up to her immediately.
'Hello... uh, Linda? We forgot your surname on the phone. But I think I'm meeting you?'
He looked all right. There was silver hair but no moustache. Tallish, average build, a sort of ordinary face, quite pleasant. Not the face of a rapist or murderer – but could you tell? Linda heard herself say Hello. He directed her over to a corner table. His hand on her arm was firm, masculine, masterful. Linda shivered.
She sat down. 'Really I can't stay long. It... It's all been very foolish, the whole thing. I don't know what got into me posting that ad.'
'So you posted it, not your husband?'
The waitress fortunately arrived at that point but as soon as she had left he repeated the question. Linda heard herself mumble a Yes.
'Spanking?' He had rather nice biue-grey eyes but they had a way of seeming to look right into you.
'Look...' she pleaded.
'Spanking? And caning?' His voice had a precise quality, the voice of someone used to being in charge. In charge of what, though? Silly-minded young females? His eyes were looking right into her again and there seemed no way she could deny it. 'Had it from anyone besides your husband?'
'No!'
He smiled: a look of pleased anticipation. 'You really are a very pretty girl, Linda. And I must certainly be a very fortunate man.'
* * *
A good meal and a taxi ride later Linda was entering Mr Appleton's flat. She didn't know how she had let herself be persuaded, but she had. Here she was, her heart in her mouth, her head spinning. Mr Appleton closed the door and took her coat. She was led into a room, an attractively furnished lounge, but Linda's eyes hardly saw it. Her mind was incapable of taking in anything beyond the central fact that somehow she was here alone with Mr Appleton.
By the very act of coming here of course it now had to be accepted that something would happen. Mr Appleton himself clearly accepted that. He had done all the persuading that needed doing and now he was in control. He did not invite Linda to sit down because he didn't want her sitting down. Instead as she stood on shaky legs he put a possessive arm round her waist. And then slid his hand down to cup the cheeks of her bottom.
Linda gave a jump like a scalded cat. Mr Appleton laughed: a confident masculine laugh.
'No need to be jumpy, my dear. You know that's the part of you that has to be attended to. Now then, this charming skirt does seem rather tight. I think you'd better take it off, don't you?'
'Look...' she began.
'No, you look, Linda. You've come here for something even though you may not like to admit it. A little adventure? Well I'm going to give you the adventure. All you have to do is exactly as I say.' His hand came up to Linda's chin forcing her to look at him. 'Take off your skirt. And then your knickers.'
The full mouth started trembling, the eyes filled with tears. Now the crunch had come she only felt sick and scared.
Mr Appleton laughed again. 'What pretty tears. But if you won't take them off I'll do it for you.'
His hands moved to her waist. Linda stumbled away, hesitated, and then scarcely knowing what she was doing began fumbling at her skirt. She stepped out of it and stood forlornly in her sexy underwear: the mauve French knickers, the slim straps of the suspender belt tautly fastening the grey nylons.
'Lovely,' observed Mr Appleton. 'And now the panties, my dear.'
Linda gave another despairing look. This couldn't be happening, could it? Please let it be a dream, a fantasy, one of those lovely games. But somehow she knew it wasn't. This was real. She had taken the parachute jump. She was in the hands of Mr Appleton, for him to do with as he wanted. Feeling faint and very shaky she fumbled her knickers down. Down the nyloned legs and off over her blue court shoes. Mr Appleton took her arm.
Linda was over his lap. His hand was fondling her bare buttocks. Not a fantasy hand but a flesh-and-blood stranger's hand. Fondling and then abruptly spanking. Hard jolting smacks on her quivering bare bottom. The panicky thought came that she was actually going to be sick.
Somehow she wasn't. She simply yielded herself up to him for discipline and let him do what he wanted. Some time later Mr Appleton was hauling her to her feet. Linda's legs didn't want to support her, they felt like jelly and she had to hang on to him. Her bottom was glowing red hot. Her face was wet with tears.
'Did you enjoy that?' Mr Appleton asked.
Linda shook her head. It meant she didn't know, couldn't answer, rather than simply No. She was utterly devastated.
'Now the cane,' he said crisply.
In the state she was in it took some seconds for it to register. When it did Linda again shook her head, this time violently.
'NO... NO! It... It'll mark me. Michael... my husband... He'll see...'
Mr Appleton, sharp eyes glinting, considered this. 'All right. Certainly we don't want unnecessary problems at this very start of our relationship. I'll strap you instead. Strap marks don't last.'
From somewhere he produced a strap. A frightening-looking two-tongued brown leather tawse. Linda's eyes fixed on it, mesmerised. Michael had never used a strap.
'Lie over the arm of the sofa. And get your bottom well up.'
For a few moments the world stopped. She had her face in the cushion of the sofa and it felt cosy and reassuring. You could forget that your bare bottom was arched up. Waiting.
SPLATT!..
It was as if she had been slashed in two. Linda let out a banshee-like yell. The pain was of quite a different order of magnitude from anything she had ever experienced before. Nothing at all like Michael's canings which did no more than produce a moderate sting. Linda was still gasping in shock and disbelief when: SPLATT!.. the strap landed again.
'NO!' she heard herself gasp. 'No. I can't take it!'
But the strap simply splatted down again.
And again. And again.
* * *
6.15pm. Michael's car turned into the street to pull up outside Number 27. Inside, Linda was silently waiting, trying to keep calm, to act normal. But how could you? After that. She glanced again in her compact mirror, sure that something of what had happened must show on her face. Her bottom would certainly be showing it for the next 24 hours at least – but hopefully she could keep that out of sight, say she didn't feel well. That would be no more than the truth. She felt shattered, flattened, as if a steam-roller had run over her.
Perhaps if I can get through this evening I can sort things out, she thought. After a good night's sleep, if she could get to sleep, she could try to think it all through with a clear head. If only it had all been in her mind, one of those delicious games. But Linda knew it wasn't: it wasn't a game, a fantasy. Mr Appleton was very very real. And now he had her name and address and phone number – and anything else you cared to mention.
She heard Michael's key in the door.
God! That was one of the best stories ever! Taking the plunge at long last...and the beginning of a double life! I'm sure she'll keep to herself.
ReplyDeleteWhat wouldn't I give to be as bold as she was!