Saturday, 4 February 2012

Full Stretch

Story from Blushes 4.

Full Stretch

The fascinating thing about the two girls is that they never seem to hold a grudge after being caned! Nor do they try to talk their way out of trouble, as so many others do. They seem to understand each other, and him, very well. So well, in fact, that they each like to help him to cane the other; often volunteering hold hands or feet or shoulders, and to put each other into the most awkward positions possible! They both have this capricious little quirk of humour which makes punishing them, singly, or together, a very amusing and rewarding exercise. He rarely punishes one without the other, as they will not 'split' on each other. More often than not the culprit owns-up during her ordeal.

Mr. Hanson has learned how to deal with this, however, having found that the wrong-doer will choose to be caned last. Knowing what she has coming she'll make the most exquisite arrangements for her friend, and help as much as she can, knowing she'll have to submit herself, later...

The bell interrupts his thoughts. He stands up and dismisses the class. They leave the room looking rather subdued, very quietly for a change. He wonders if he could ban the wearing of knickers...


"A very good class, this afternoon, girls," Mr. Hanson says, as he goes into the science lab after school. "Thank you," he adds quietly, and drily.

The two girls both prefects, look at each other. Neither speaks. They stand, hands behind their backs, looking subdued already, as if they both realise now that they've done something wrong.

"Whose idea was it to take their knickers off?"

They glance at each other and shuffle feet awkwardly. Anne blushes faintly, knowing they are in trouble.

"I – um – we thought it would be better, sir." June says quietly. "You were saying the last week how some of the girls spoiled your lessons. And – and how we ought to do something about it, being prefects. We thought we'd stop them that way, so we – um..."

"I thought so!" he nods slowly. "I realise you were trying to help, but... I'd like you to show me how you did it, in case of complaints."

"Er – now?" June asks warily, seeing rough the subtlety of his ploy.

"Um-hum! Now! What happened?" he demands severely. A good act as he's sure there will be no complaints – not from these girls.

"We – um – got them as they came in. It was easy, we –"

"I can imagine!" he says severely. "Show me!"

The girls look at each other, register alarm. They hadn't expected this. Seconds, then Anne makes for the door without a word. She goes out and closes the door. June stands behind, waiting.

The door opens and Anne strolls in. June steps from behind the door puts one arm round her waist pinning her arms securely, her other hand goes over Anne's mouth and draws her head back until she stares up at the ceiling, helplessly off-balance, wide-eyed, unable to complain.

Mr. Hanson takes in Anne's out-thrust nipples, her widely-spread feet, and her small reflex struggles as June shoves her toward the nearest bench. She submits to being laid across its top reluctantly.

"Now, she grabbed their hands, so I could hold them," June says.

"Like this?" He grips Anne's slim wrists and instinctively crosses them in the small of her back. She moans nasally, trying to object.

"Yes, that's right, sir." June takes over holding the crossed wrists firmly and steps to one side. Anne lies there, head up, staring at the opposite wall, with June's hand still over her mouth. She wriggles her hips – about all she can do easily. Her hands waggle forlornly, as June says, "Then, she – um – did it, sir – took their knickers."

"I see. You make it look very easy," he considers this, with Anne trying to look over her shoulder to see what's going to happen to her.

"Perhaps, we should do it to her, do you think?" he asks blandly.

"Yes, sir!" June moves a little sideways, to give him more room. He steps up close, turns Anne's short skirt up and slips her knickers down over her soft, full cheeks, and on down to her knees. Anne raises her feet, unasked, so that he can slip her knickers off completely. He stands, trying to look severe, with the knickers dangling from one finger. Anne crosses her ankles and bends her knees, trying to hide what she is now displaying so nicely, but failing. She sighs nervously.

Mr. Hanson takes in her neat pussy and its nest of dark curly hair. He stares at June, who now has an oddly eager look, realising no doubt how Anne must feel and savouring the sexiness of this punishment session. Just as Anne herself probably is, if she would admit it.

"And now, you fix these –" he displays Anne's knickers "to the board?"

"No, sir," June says, "She did that."

"Alright, June. Let her go now."

While Anne gets to her feet, face flushed and looking ruffled and crestfallen, he considers whether she should now staple her own knickers to the top of the blackboard. In the workshop the old one has been replaced by a modern roller blackboard which runs from floor to ceiling, almost. Finally, he decides, yet – why not?

They both watch Anne climb onto a high stool, to stand on tip-toes at full stretch, while she struggles to use the stapler from his desk to fix her knickers to the top rail of the tall frame. She does this, then jumps down, blushing pinkly.

"Neither of you are going to tell me who did it – I mean whose idea it was – are you?" Again the mock-stern tone.

The girls look innocent, but don't speak. He smiles knowingly.

"Then I think this is hardly fair. I think it's June's turn to go out, now, don't you, Anne?" And Anne nods knowing this is a game neither of them have any option about playing. This isn't the first time he's had them both in here.

June gives him an up-from-under look, very eloquent, then moves to the door reluctantly without a word. She goes out and closes the door.

"June may put up rather more of a struggle than you did, Anne."

"Yes, sir," Anne agrees, and goes over to stand behind the door.

June comes in quickly, but Anne snares her easily. She gasps as she is forced down onto the bench, but makes no other cry. Again he takes the unwillingly offered wrists and crosses them. Anne takes them and shoves them so high up June's back she arches up helplessly, squirming.

Again, the sleek hips are unveiled, the attractive curves displayed, and the knickers are slipped down. And again the feet are raised unbidden, so high that he barely has to stoop to slip her knickers off.

She relaxes, knowing she has no alternative but to display her cute feminine secrets and her curly blonde nest. She adopts a charming position across the bench; slightly pigeon-toed and with knees pressed together, but this makes very little difference. She makes small sounds of mild protest.

He hands June her knickers and he watches her struggle on the tall stool as she staples them alongside Anne's, at full stretch!

"I know you won't do it again, girls, but in spite of your good intentions I'll have to punish you – agreed?" he queries mildly.

The girls nod apprehensively, unwilling to meet his eyes, showing alarm.

"Three strokes each, say?" he suggests. "Facing Mecca, though."

More slow, reluctant nods from both girls. Neither seems to relish his little whimsical suggestion about the position they will adopt.

"Good! Please yourselves who goes first. One of you bring the cane, please."

A last hesitant glance passes between the girls, then they walk to the back of the lab. There are two low benches there, legs shortened for small pupils. On the side wall is a coloured picture of a tall minaret. This may possibly be in Mecca, not that this matters a bit.

Anne pants a little, apprehensively and kneels up on the low bench, while June goes into the store-room for the cane. Mr. Hanson watches as Anne takes up the position of one who prays to Allah; kneeling, knees and feet together neatly, bottom up and head down. She crouches and wriggles to make herself as comfortable as she can, knowing she won't be comfortable for very long.

He raises her short skirt which makes her go a bit trembly.

June comes back with the cane, hiding a conspiratorial smile behind her hand at a sudden thought. Mr. Hanson walks to meet her, so that he can walk back and get a long-range view of Anne's curvy bum and shapely thighs. June whispers something to him. He nods slowly. "Good idea." He sees no reason why he shouldn't exploit the mischievous and vicarious delight these two seem always to derive from embarrassing each other. Anne looks round, no doubt wondering what the 'good idea' may be.

June goes back into the store, and comes out carrying a yard long piece of wood about two inches square. She giggles as she lays this across the backs of Anne's legs, just behind her knees, against her thighs.

"If you'll just grip that for me, please, Anne."

Anne makes a small sound of mild protest, glares sideways at June. Slowly her arms come back either side of her thighs and she grips the wood. June smiles impishly.

"Now pull on it!" he says coolly, interested to see the results.

They both watch as Anne pulls gently. The sharp edges of the wood press into her legs and unwillingly she has to raise her bum even higher! Her hands being down by her knees, now, her head and shoulders are much lower, making her look rather awkward. She mutters, "You wait!"

Mr. Hanson surveys the tense silky bum, elevated, out-thrust and ideally presented. He selects his spot and lays his cane on it across the smooth fullness of Anne's cheeks which clench instantly.

"Ready, Anne?"

"Mmm!" She squirms slowly, unable to keep still now.

He raises the cane, pauses until the quiverings stop and she relaxes slightly. Her fine curves become softer and more yielding.

'Shwitt!' and an instant white line appears across both full cheeks.

"Ah-mmmm!" she gasps, wriggling furiously, bum swinging madly...

'Shwittt!' and another thin white line is indented across the pale satiny curves an inch above the first which has now turned bright red.

Again he raises the cane as Anne squeals "Wow!". He waits, watches her second line turn sore-looking red, noticing her cheeks are flushing to a light pink now, already. He sees she is trying to tuck her dark curly nest in, arching her back since she isn't able to lower her bum.

'Shwittt!' he delivers the final stroke and creates another white line an inch below his first, demoralising her completely.

"Ah!" Anne gasps, shuddering prettily, trying to look back from the corners of her eyes which are now bright with unshed tears.

He and June exchange glances, while Anne holds her position warily, not wanting to earn more strokes by moving too soon, before she's told. Her full cheeks are now a faint pink, with three neatly parallel red lines curved across both. They switch and quiver tensely. June cannot stop herself from uttering a low, "Ooooooh!" of concern, possibly for Anne, much more likely for herself, now that it's her turn.

"Right, Anne!" Mr. Hanson sounds reluctant to release her.

"Thank you, sir." She gulps back a suggestion of a sob and discards the piece of wood that has caused her so much humiliation. She kneels up, arches her back and clutches her bum, gasping, "Oh-h-h-h!" Her face is even more flushed than her bottom. She descends from her perch, looking contrite and subdued.

"Come on, June. Your turn!" he says with some relish.

June reluctantly takes Anne's place, and adopts the position slowly. She kneels in the shallow trough down the centre of the bench, as Anne did, knees together, bottom up and head down. She stares wordlessly now, at Anne, pleading silently. Anne takes no notice at all. She picks up the piece of wood and glances at Mr. Hanson. He nods: yes. She lays the wood across the backs of June's legs without speaking, who reaches back and grips it without a word, now unable to glare at Anne.

"Would you like to raise June's skirt for me, please?"

"Oh, yes, sir." Anne smiles foxily. Now it's her turn to gloat.

Seconds, and poor June is naked to her waist, in the very undignified pose that reveals all her female secrets – or almost all. Anne smiles wickedly and whispers to Mr. Hanson briefly. He listens, nodding.

"Put your hands between your knees, please, June. Hold the wood that way, if you don't mind."

June tries to do as she's been told, but the central trough of the bench isn't wide enough. She has to kneel astride this so that she can pass her arms between her knees. This raises her bottom another few inches and leaves her displaying all her charms. Mr. Hanson can now see the soft undercurve of her stomach between her legs, and her cute pussy is completely exposed amid her fine gold pubic hair as she lays the wood over her legs. Her hands appear between her legs, palms upward. She grips the wood and pulls on it which makes her position still better, though perhaps not from her point of view, elevating her cute bum even higher! It is clear she is unhappy at the indignity of this position.

"Ready, June?" He tees-up to her flinching bum-cheeks.

She nods and 'Shwitt!'. An instant fine white line blazes across her pale cheeks, and she wails "Wheeoooo!" softly, bum-cheeks squeezing madly.

On her pale skin the line seems to turn redder, quicker, until it seems to be glowing almost. Mr. Hanson waits for her to settle down, then, 'Shwitt!' Another fine white line appears like magic below her first, which seemed a bit high to Mr. Hanson. Anne shifts from one foot to the other, knowing how June feels now; hot and humiliated, and probably a little indignant at the way she's being forced to keep her bum up high. An even worse position than she herself had to endure. She senses the hot, furious pain she'll have in her bum, now. And perhaps the odd sensual spasms in her tummy.

June's head is up, now, eyes tightly shut. She shakes her head for some reason, as if she's saying no! But she isn't, this is all she can do without earning more strokes – and she knows it!

Mr. Hanson notices her delicately displayed pussy is beginning to pout moistly; Anne notices his interest.

"Shall I clear up, sir?" she asks, a model of discretion.

"No need, thanks. Off you go, now, June won't be long."

"Right, sir." Anne grins knowingly. At least she has managed to avoid the final ignominy this time, though this has happened to her on other occasions when her lack of self-control has been noticed.

She decides to remember the idea of the piece of wood and the hands between the knees. The problem is, of course: June will remember it also. She goes to retrieve her knickers, feeling vaguely jealous that it isn't her he's keeping behind.

Mr. Hanson waits until Anne leaves, and closes the door, then he delivers his final stroke, lower still on the smooth under-curves of June's pliant bottom-cheeks at the soft spot where they would crease if they weren't so high and tight. A last sharp – 'Shwitt!' and a last soft cry, and it's all over. Or nearly all over.

By the time her last stripe has flamed up into its full rosy redness June is pouting beautifully. Her sensitive pale skin has responded to the cane and is now flushed a nice rosy pink in the area of her three bright red lines.

June keeps quite still, apart from her long slim fingers which grip the wood across the backs of her thighs nervously now. She dare not move yet, and knows it. She gasps softly, unable to prevent what is about to happen, aware that Mr. Hanson knows this very well indeed, feeling ashamed that he knows, too, that she wants him to do it to her, or at the very least that she won't tell tales afterwards. A conspiracy of silence, and she as guilty as he.

"Stay there, June. You needn't hold the wood so tightly now."


June sighs softly. Her full lower lip is between her nice teeth now, gripped firmly to prevent herself from squealing, if she can. She dare not relax her grip on the wood; knows she'll grip it much harder soon.

"I may have caned you too hard," he says, "I'll put some cream on it." He doesn't say on what.

She peaks almost at the first touch of his gentle fingers, moaning quietly. She 'comes' as discreetly as she can. A little later Mr. Hanson brings her her knickers. Suddenly overcome by shyness she takes them gratefully and scampers for the door.

Friday, 3 February 2012

Bringing Her On

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.4.

Bringing Her On

The continuation of the story "Taken In Hand"

Going off on a business trip abroad, Adrienne's husband left her and their nineteen-year-old daughter in the care of an old friend, Colonel Carrington, who was 'to see to them'. Which he has been doing very effectively – as their two hot-tingling bottoms have learned....

* * *

"Dashed nuisance that I have to go off tomorrow, my dear. I did promise that I'd stay till your nearest and dearest was back, but business calls. Frightfully sorry", said Colonel Carrington as he drove Adrienne back from a brief shopping trip after lunch.

"Yes", Adrienne said vaguely. She wanted to say more, but she couldn't find the words. She felt ashamed, delighted, tormented and pleasured all at once at what had occurred in the past week since he had stayed with them. – "Let him have whatever he wants", her husband had told her, and Adrienne had agreed with that quiet submissiveness that he loved. Her bottom had wriggled so often to the tawse and the cane in the last twenty years that she knew she could no longer do without them. There had been a mad time once, when she had first got married, when her husband and the Colonel had warmed-up their wives' bottoms together in the same room and had then shafted them manfully while they had moaned and wriggled.

She had never been allowed to forget that – the ultimate surrender – and now in the past few days the Colonel had got Wendy into training, and Adrienne knew that she had not objected as strongly as she should have done.

"Her bottom has to come to it", she had been told. The funny thing was that Wendy had reacted just as she herself had first done – the kickings, the struggles, the outraged yelps and cries.... and then all those gradually dying away a little as the firm, authoritarian hold on her continued.

Was Wendy beginning to LIKE it, or was she just allowing herself to yield to it? Maybe it was the same thing in the end. – "She has smartened up a lot in the past week – have you noticed?", Adrienne heard the Colonel asking as they paused at traffic lights. Even as he spoke he seemed to be answering her own thoughts. – "Yes, I suppose...", Adrienne began hesitantly, but then pulled herself together. It was true, after all. – "She has more self-awareness, Adrienne, and that is good for her. Her bottom is prouder than it was – just as yours once became".

"Yes, I know, but you DID cane her hard – that first time", Adrienne responded, and flushed as she spoke. He had locked her in the bedroom while he attended to Wendy. She could still hear Wendy's sobs and howls, her pleading cries, and then that odd, broken note coming into her voice as she was brought on to it. At least Wendy hadn't uttered a single word of complaint to her. Adrienne had expected fierce outbursts – but no. Like mother, like daughter, perhaps.

"She came through it, Adrienne. At the last stroke she hung whimpering over the chair. She made to slide back down, but I told her to stay, and she did. I admired her for that. I carried her up, put her into bed and gave her a gentle kiss. I kissed her tears away". – "Don't....", Adrienne said quickly. – "She rolled over on her side and lay quietly", the Colonel went on as if Adrienne had not spoken. "Her very first caning, too. She has been spanked before?", he asked. Adrienne said "Oh, yes, well....", and then stopped. – "Yes, I thought so. Her bottom was just a little responsive. A good thing that", the Colonel said cheerfully. There was a silence then as they drove on, and then he said quietly, "You know you love what you have to have, Adrienne. I remember how you used to blush and how the tip of your tongue would peep out when you were made to stand up straight and your knickers were rolled down".

"Tom, don't! Look, tonight..." – "Yes, tonight", he replied cheerfully, "I've already told Wendy that I want her in her outfit". – "And? And what did she say?", jerked Adrienne, compressing her lips. – "She said nothing, my dear. In the case of young ladies, silence implies consent, I believe. It is not a subject we need discuss any further. As to yourself...."

"I don't want to hear about it", Adrienne said quickly. – "Surely", he replied smoothly and then changed the subject so that he had her unguardedly laughing minutes later. Everything would be all right, she thought; he was going tomorrow. But the cane would stay – waiting.... Her mood changed again and she said brightly, "I thought we might go out tonight – the three of us". – " Uh-huh? But I have to pack, my dear, and – er – see to things", he answered. – "Well, then I might go out. Perhaps I'll take Wendy to a movie while you're packing", Adrienne said with a slight bite in her voice that made him smile inwardly. Adrienne knew damned well, he thought, that she was going to get the cane, too, tonight...

So, of course, did Wendy. From the moment she had been told to wear her 'outfit', she knew it. That very short black pleated skirt, the self-supporting black nylons, the six-inch high heels that gave her bottom such a pert lift, and that white, semi-transparent blouse which showed the shadowy impression of her nipples. He would cane her harder if she didn't. He hadn't said so, but she knew he would. And it was no use complaining now; it was far too late for that.

After supper she went up to the bathroom and stayed in their for almost half an hour, trembling in anticipation of what was to be. Her mother had said she was going out. – "No, I don't want to come", Wendy had said half sullenly when the pictures had been suggested. "I'm stupid, I ought to go", she told herself desperately as she finally slid into her bedroom. Her 'strict outfit', as the Colonel called it, didn't include any panties. Passing her tongue over her dry lips, Wendy slipped her things off and stood hesitant before her mirror before she half-dolefully sat on her bed and began sleeking on her black stockings.

"Wendy – are you coming?", her mother's voice called. – "No", Wendy replied curtly. It was all her mother's fault for letting it happen – for letting herself be caned as well. When she heard the front door slam, Wendy quickened her movements. Oh God, get it over with, she thought. Ten minutes later when she hesitantly descended, her ultra high heels spiking into the carpet, he waited for her smiling.

"There's my good girl", he greeted her, surveying her from the tips of her polished shoes, slowly upwards where the rims of her pale thighs showed, and up to her tip-tilted breasts which the blouse so clearly outlined. Wendy swallowed and blushed as his eyes caressed her. – "You feel proud in coming to it, my dear, and you know you do", the Colonel said. Wendy bit her lip and made to take a step back as he picked up the waiting cane, but then stood still.

"I don't", she mumbled rebelliously and dropped her eyes. His hand reached out for her own smaller, warm one and drew her forward. – "You don't slouch any more, Wendy", he said admiringly while she stood silent, her eyes downcast. – "Get it over with!", her voice sang in her head, feeling the naughtiness of her naked bottom under her brief skirt, the pleated hem waiting to be lifted. – "You don't, Wendy? You mean you have put panties on – for instance?", he asked in a slightly warning tone.

Her gulp was audible then and she shook her head. The blue carpet stared back up at her. I should have gone with Mummy, she thought desperately. – "You may take off your blouse now", she heard and uttered a startled "What?", yet the moment the word left her pretty lips, the Colonel moved with astonishing speed. One moment he was standing and holding her hand and then next he was sitting. One moment Wendy was standing – nubile and yet a little awkward as she looked – and the next she was sprawled over his lap with her glossy round bottom bared and his palm descending on the quivering cheeks.

"I said...." SMACK! "that you may...." SMACK! "take your blouse...." SMACK! "off now" – SMACK! SMACK!

"YOW-OW!" wailed Wendy at each blasting descent of his palm that sent fire flaring into her pert bottom. Her hips bucked wildly, but with one arm twisted behind her, she was pinned down securely. "BOO-HOO-HOOO!", Wendy sobbed babyishly and then was thrust just as quickly on to her feet where she stood working her hips, her skirt tipped up at one side, baring her hip, and tears sheening her eyes. "OOOH-WOOOH-WOOH!", she howled, holding her blasted bottom cheeks.

"OFF! It is a primary lesson, my girl, that once you have donned your strict outfit, you do as you are told. Now, OFF with it, or else..." – "All right, all right!", Wendy sobbed. Her pink-painted nails stammered at the pearl buttons, twisting them open one by one until she could sheathe off the white blouse, her plump tits bobbing above his eyes, the nipples brown on the milky gourds.

"There, you see.... simple. Now the skirt, please", the Colonel uttered and stood up making her back away. – "My.... my skirt...?", asked Wendy desperately, to gain time. – "Your lovely bottom is already naked, my dear. What is the difference?" As he spoke, so he picked up the cane, making Wendy utter a plaintive "OHH!". Scrabbling at her zip, she let her skirt cascade to her ankles and stepped out of it daintily, the fur of her pubic bush showing in a dark plump triangle against the flawless skin of her tummy. Her lips worked, producing a little mewing sound as the Colonel walked slowly around her, admiring every wondrous dip and curve of her ripe young figure. His eyes dwelt on her slightly swollen titties and the pert, pale plum of her adorable bottom with its strawberries-and-cream hue.

"Forward now and bend over the arm of the sofa", he murmured, tapping her impertinent bottom lightly with the cane. The floor then seemed to sway and dip under her feet as she did so. It wasn't the first time that Wendy had been over the arm of the sofa, but never with her tits naked as well. Positioning herself fretfully but delicately, she heard the admiring inhissing of the Colonel's breath as she exposed her total girlishness to him, the fig of her cunny peeping under her cleft bottom.

Now was the moment – the moment of her true initiation, the Colonel thought. It was now up to him to prepare her for the exquisitely sensuous pleasures of her future. As carefully as he slid down the zip of his flies, even so Wendy's ears caught the sound and she buried her face in her hands and waited. – "There is an afterwards, Wendy, you know", her mother had murmured to her all too vaguely the day before, but Wendy knew what she meant. Her eyes had not missed the horny projection that the exposure of her bottom always aroused.

The cane swooped and fell. She heard its quick swish and then clenched her teeth as it seared across her offered derriere. For a long moment nothing but the flames absorbed her, but the shrill cry that came up from her throat was many decibels lower than it would have been a week before. Her hips jiggled and swung, but then with a massive effort she stilled them, pressing her tummy down into the firm but slightly yielding material that rolled beneath her. With a start she felt the cane sidle up between her knees and force them apart. Then she knew why. – "Only two more, Wendy, you've been a good girl, and I've already spanked you, after all. Push it up now – let me see you", she heard and, with tears sparkling in her lovely eyes, heard that awful SWEEE-ISSH again and yelped, jiving her hips wildly and making the sofa bump.

The Colonel waited long until she was still again. Her bubbling sobs sounded quite adorable. – "Just one more, Princess, and then you're going to get what you've so nearly had before. Isn't that right?", asked the Colonel slyly. – "Oho, I never.... YEEE-OW-WER!", Wendy ripped as the promised one came in. This time she had no chance to jive her hips, for even as the cane swung so it was loosed and fell with a faint clatter to the carpet and her would-be wriggling curves were seized.

"GOOO-WER!" came Wendy's last explosive cry. Something like a huge plum was easing up between her melting cuntlips, expanding them as the throbbing stave drove in until the hot butterball of her bottom was rammed tightly into his belly, grinding wildly against his skin as their mingling moans of desire filled the otherwise silent drawing room. – "You... you lovely little bitch!", the Colonel ground out. "Oh yes, oh yes – come on!" Wendy sobbed.

It was quiet when Adrienne let herself in at eleven that night. Almost too quiet, but everything was tidy except for the ruffled cushions on the sofa. Tiptoeing upstairs, she cautiously opened Wendy's door and peeped in. The room was itself as silent as a tomb. Adrienne frowned as she saw Wendy's naked breasts peeping over the top of the sheet. Why on earth hadn't she put her nightdress on and – heavens! – a toe was thrust out from under the bedclothes and it was black. She had gone to bed with her stockings on, of all things! Yet Wendy looked so peaceful and with such a beatific and relaxed expression on her face that Adrienne decided not to disturb her. She closed the door silently again.

Those stockings, though.... and no nightie on. Compressing her lips, Adrienne went into the front bedroom and found him, as she expected, lying in waiting for her. – "Look, I want to know.,..", she began.

"Get your clothes off and get into bed, Adrienne", he snapped, and sat up. The cane lay alongside him, she saw. Hastily Adrienne closed the door. – "Listen, Tom, I don't want to wake Wendy, but...". – "There are no buts, Adrienne. You know how your husband feels about disobedience. I don't want to have to report on you badly do I? Mission completed and all that y'know. Get INTO bed!"

Only the next morning did Adrienne wonder why she had obeyed so meekly, but that was the way it always was now. "Were you all right last night?", she asked Wendy after breakfast when the Colonel was preparing to depart. – "Oh, lovely, Mummy – yes – honestly", Wendy replied. Her mother would hopefully never know how all-right she had been, but one thing was certain.

Never again, Wendy thought, was she going to refuse the cane.... or a spanking..... She had put her 'strict outfit' away carefully that morning. All folded neatly in a drawer. After all, she might need it again sometime. One never knew. But she decided to keep that to herself, too....

Thursday, 2 February 2012

Exposure

Story from Janus 82.

Exposure
by Andrew Grantham

Trevor spread out the photographs on the table top. The holiday pictures had all been taken in Spain — most of the shots showed someone either drinking San Miguel beer or posing with a bottle of it in their hands. Mexican-style hats were favoured by most of the young men who had been photographed. They all wore the usual offensive 'Brits Abroad' tee-shirts and looked typically stupid. No wonder, thought the dark-haired, unattached 31-year-old, that the Continentals only wanted the British if they happened to be involved in fighting a war on their behalf.

Featured in the majority of the photos was a young, shapely, curly-haired blonde. Topless in many of the photos, her breasts were like great, heavy pears. The nipples were big, and aroused too — clear evidence that a lot of horseplay had taken place before the camera shutter had clicked; and no doubt afterwards, too!

'You've got a nice pair of knockers there, my lovely,' breathed Trevor.

Even better however, in his eyes, were the two glossy photographs in which the blonde girl's resplendent bottom took pride of place.

In the first one, her big, moon-shaped behind took up most of the picture space. Had she posed like that for a bet? Too much Sangria, perhaps? Whatever reason she had had for exposing her butt to the camera didn't really bother Trevor. He was just glad that she had!

'That's a very nice arse you've got, young lady,' he breathed excitedly, bending forward to admire the young, female flesh through a powerful magnifying glass.

The girl's bottom was really just a bit too fleshy to be perfect, but it was certainly a 'nice arse' as he had put it. Trevor bet to himself that those luscious mounds would quake and quiver after a hard palm had landed on them — which brought him to the other picture!

In that one the blonde was draped totally naked over the lap of one of the youths, with her bottom poked high in the air. The person taking the photograph couldn't possibly have captured that moment when the spanker's hand had flattened the girl-flesh before its rebound. The palm must have been deliberately pressed down on to the soft humps for the purposes of the picture.

After a while, Trevor put the photo to one side and pulled the telephone nearer to him. He tapped out the number from a slip of paper and drummed his fingers on the table top as he waited for the ringing tone to stop and the voice to come on the line. The adrenalin was certainly beginning to pump, now.

'Hello.'

It was a young female voice. She confirmed the number he had called.

'It's about your holiday photographs,' began Trevor.

'Oh yes.' The girl's voice rose in pitch, indicating her immediate interest.

Was she suddenly afraid that she was going to get into trouble over them? Trevor paused, so that she could feel relief when he continued, 'It looks like I've got yours.' Then he paused again before saying, 'You must have mine, Lisa.'

'Oh I see,' came the response, but there was still some nagging doubt, judging by her tone. 'Just a minute. How do you know my name and phone number?'

'Well,' said Trevor, 'Glossy Snaps suggested we exchange pictures ourselves as it would be such a lot quicker. Especially as we're not far away from one another.'

'That was a bit naughty of them,' sniffed Lisa. 'I've got a good mind to write to...'

'Good idea,' interrupted Trevor. 'Anyway, if you've no objections, I'll pop round this evening.'

Lisa didn't respond right away. Trevor then told her that Glossy Snaps would send a credit note and free vouchers for the inconvenience. She agreed and Trevor wished her 'goodbye'. Beaming broadly, he put down the phone.

It was early evening when he arrived at the address written on the slip of paper. The door to a small entrance porch was not even closed. The old house was divided up into flats or bedsitters. Pieces of paper and brown envelopes fastened to a porch support by drawing pins indicated the various tenants. Miss L. Murphy occupied number 12.

Trevor made his way up the uncarpeted staircase to the very top floor. There was no bell on the paint-flaked door, so he knocked loudly. There was only a short pause before it was opened as far as the brass safety chain allowed. The unmistakable face of the girl in the holiday snaps appeared in the opening.

From the pictures, Trevor had guessed her age as around 23 or so but she was clearly a couple of years younger than that.

The expression 'good-looking in a streetwise way' was, in fact, a fair description of Miss L. Murphy. Her eyes were blue and widely-spaced and her nose was just the right shape for her rounded face. She wore no make-up but Trevor could visualise what her fleshy lips would look like coated with glossy lipstick. Her natural blonde hair, which had been further lightened by its recent exposure to the sun, was loosely curled and it trailed down to her shoulders.

Her overall prettiness was, however, tempered by a perceptible sneer which Trevor had observed on the faces of many young women of a similar type.

'Hi,' she greeted, after a cursory inspection of the caller. 'I recognise you from the pictures. You're just as ugly in real life!'

Trevor smiled. She had a sense of humour. He liked that. It helped to break down barriers.

He waited, pulse racing, for what would happen next. Would she merely exchange the photographs through the gap or would she ask him inside?

'You'd better come in,' she offered, slipping the chain and opening wide the door.

So far, so good. That was the first hurdle over.

He saw now that she was dressed in a pale blue leisure-suit. She looked very nice in it.

'Thank you, Lisa,' he smiled, quickly taking advantage of the offer. 'It's nice of you.'

'It's nice of you to put yourself out after Glossy Snaps cocked up our pictures.' Lisa actually sounded grateful.

'No problem,' Trevor told her, following the girl down a short, narrow corridor.

As she moved ahead of him, his gaze fixed on the curve of her buttocks. He knew, of course, exactly what her backside looked like from the pictures and it was easy for his X-ray mind to remove the taut blue cladding.

The outline of Lisa's tiny briefs was quite evident. Trevor's imagination had no problem whatsoever in removing that obstruction!

The plump cushions wobbled so delightfully from side to side that it was difficult for the visitor to keep his hands off them! He managed it however and he sat down on a battered settee in the rather tattily-furnished living room.

Lisa picked up a gaily coloured 'Glossy Snaps' photo wallet from a shelf and she sat down beside him. Her nipples prodded clearly against the inside of her blue top. She was obviously bare-breasted beneath the garment.

'I thought some of your pictures were a bit, er, um, on the saucy side, to say the least,' Trevor began, pulling a similar packet from his jacket.

'You're a good one to talk!' scoffed Lisa, her big eyes widening. She tapped the wallet with her nicely-nailed fingers. 'Some of yours should never have been printed!'

'Just fooling around,' grinned Trevor, shrugging his shoulders, but noting the broad smile on the girl's face.

'That's all I was doing, wasn't I?' she pointed out, screwing up her nose.

Trevor took a deep breath as he plucked from the photo wallet the picture of the nude Lisa over the yobbo nolidaymaker s lap.

'I take it you like having your bottom smacked,' he put to her.

'Don't be so 'effing cheeky!' Lisa's response was more of a matter of form protest than a cry of outrage.

'Nothing wrong with it,' insisted Trevor. He brought the photograph up to his eyes as if it were the first time he had inspected it closely.

'There's nothing wrong with your bottom, either,' he laughed. 'It's very nice indeed.'

'Here!' snapped Lisa, stretching for the photos. 'I'd better have those!'

Trevor noticed how her features had now hardened. He let her have them and he sat back in the seat.

'I've got a proposition to put to you, my dear.' He tried to sound relaxed, but his heart was pounding madly. It was make or break time.

'Have you indeed?' She gave a half laugh. It was obvious however from the expression of interest on her face that she wanted to hear what his proposition actually was, all the same.

'You must like a bloke spanking you...' began Trevor, in a very serious tone.

'So that's it!' interrupted Lisa, standing up and glaring at her visitor. Her blue eyes were like fire now. 'Just because you were lucky enough to see some photos you shouldn't have seen in the first place, you think...'

'Hear me out!' Trevor spoke softly and placatingly held up his hand. 'We can maybe do a deal.'

Lisa let him carry on and her features changed from a stony mask into a frown. Next, her eyebrows arched as she looked pensive. A smile followed and, finally, she bared her bright teeth in a grin.

'Okay then,' she told the excited Trevor, 'but you've got to do your part of the deal first!'

Trevor shot to his feet, a huge beam of delight spread across his handsome, clean-shaven features.

* * *

Undressed, Lisa was actually much less weighty than she had appeared in her holiday shots. She was a very curvy girl, though.

As she stood beside him ready to drape herself over his lap, Trevor resisted the temptation to cup at least one heavy, sun-kissed breast in the palm of a hand. That was not part of the deal and he couldn't take the risk.

She still had her panties on — a pair of white tanga briefs. They were at full stretch and her thick pubic thatch was like a pad beneath the straining nylon.

His heart was no longer behaving like a steam hammer, but it was still beating excitedly within his chest.

'Just my luck for my snaps to go to someone like you,' sniffed Lisa as she lowered herself into position.

'Why?' asked Trevor, exhilarated at the sudden intimacy and warmth her practically naked young body had produced as her weight pressed down in his lap. 'You obviously enjoy getting your bottom smacked.'

'I can live without it.' Lisa's voice came from down near the carpet.

Trevor smiled smugly to himself. He couldn't live without it!

Gloatingly, he contemplated the fresh young body at his disposal. Lisa's shoulders were quite wide, but her waist was nicely nipped in above her expansive hips.

Lisa's briefs covered only a very small portion of her upthrust bottom. The skin was tanned and Trevor well knew that the tiny segments still hidden beneath that scrap of nylon were exactly the same colour. No doubt she enjoyed wearing nothing but a G-string on crowded foreign beaches and would feel stimulated to make such an exhibition of herself. The backs of her generous thighs were smooth and inviting and her calves were nicely contoured.

Trevor's gaze returned, inevitably, to the fabric triangle.

He gripped the elasticated waistband and tugged sharply downwards.

'Hey!' exclaimed Lisa. She rose up on one arm and tried to halt the down-sliding briefs with a quick grab behind her. Alarm showed on her face.

'Just like the photographs. Right?' Trevor reminded her. 'That was the agreement. You were bare-arsed in the pictures, remember?'

Lisa said nothing and quickly resumed her submissive pose. Trevor then fully exposed all of her ripe, young bottom. He stared admiringly at the plump, shapely cheeks before running a palm over their warm, silky-skinned surfaces.

'Wide-arsed and wonderful!' breathed the visitor. 'That's how I like them.'

The pair had agreed that Trevor would stop the spanking immediately Lisa requested him to do so — after he had given her a minimum of six good slaps. In order that she would be free to roll off his lap if she so wanted, he did not ring her waist with his left arm.

'Aren't you going to do it then?' sniffed Lisa disdainfully. 'I thought you were dead keen to spank me. But if you want to spend all night just looking at it, suit yourself!'

She was a cheeky bitch, thought Trevor but at least she had volunteered her backside for his pleasure; and a pleasure it would certainly be!

'You're quite happy with your part of the... er... agreement?' he asked her once again.

The 'agreement' had been for Lisa to recreate her spanking pose as per her holiday snaps. In return, Trevor had recreated the poses which had caused the girl a great deal of amusement. He had done his part of the deal!

'For fucksake, if you don't hurry and get on with it, you can bugger off home!' snorted Lisa. What language modern girls used. But was she giving away more than she intended?

Determined more than ever to make every one of the allocated slaps count, Trevor delivered a full-armed smack upon Lisa's bared behind.

'Ooh!' she exclaimed involuntarily and her whole body replied in an instant jerk.

The delighted visitor let his palm stay on the firmly-rounded flesh for a while. Then, when he took it away, he stared down at the exposed globes. There on the crown of her right cheek was the stark pink imprint which marked the sudden descent of his eager hand.

'Okay?' asked Trevor.

The answer was a grunt and an affirmative nod of her head. His palm had returned to stroke her bottom intimately. 'Get on with it!' she said. He lifted his hand again. He noticed that her shoulders hunched and her buttocks clenched apprehensively as she waited for the next one. That first slap had been pretty powerful, and loud. She had ridden it very well, but of course the girl was no novice.

Trevor now aimed for the left side of the alluring crevice between the twin globes.

'Nghghh!' Lisa exhaled noisily as Trevor's hand splatted across the target cheek, making a sound that was extremely crisp and sharp.

The girl's hips rotated in a furious circle and her legs jerked upwards forcing more weight into Trevor's crotch.

Now, the mate of the first mark sprang up on the opposite orb.

He couldn't, unfortunately, see the expression on Lisa's face, but he was willing to bet that her features would be all screwed up and that the sneer had been temporarily obliterated.

Trevor waited for Lisa to stop squirming before preparing to deliver another stinging slap on to the plump, shapely cheeks.

SMACK!

'Ooooch!' gasped Lisa, wriggling her shoulders and her bottom. 'You've done this before. Right?' That voice was anything but dead and emotionless.

'Right!' confirmed Trevor as her responsive young bottom heaved up and down. He knew that the playful spanking she had had at the hands of the lager louts in Spain would have been nothing like the one he was giving her now. Those yobs had been mere amateurs whereas he was of professional standard!

Ready now to put some more heat into Lisa's lovely round buttocks, Trevor again raised his open-palmed hand up to shoulder height.

Suddenly, his right arm flashed downward and his hand cracked against the gorgeous full moons with the heel landing on the left cheek and the outstretched fingers on its twin.

Lisa moaned. It must have felt as devastating as it sounded!

Trevor raised his stinging hand. The spanked area of Lisa's smooth, warm bottom was a solid shade of red. The stretched skin was still quivering from the impact.

'My bum feels like you could fry an egg on it, you bastard!'

Lisa was obviously gritting her teeth as she spoke, but she was not really complaining. She knew how to take it. Maybe she figured that insulting him would bring out the beast in him, but he remained polite as ever.

'Ready for another one?' Trevor asked her.

The answer was another affirmative nod of her golden mane. He heard her breathing fast.

The impact of his scything palm sounded explosive as the fifth slap drove further fire deep into her nates.

'Ooooch!' she responded loudly, her bare hips grinding his lap as she rode out the smarting smack.

Trevor, his blood racing, feasted his eyes on her rotating, crimsoning backside. He wanted this to go on for ever.

'Two more, Lisa,' he said softly to her, gliding his palm over those curved, scorched surfaces and then up and down the unmarked flesh of her thighs.

'I can 'effing well count!' protested Lisa, twisting her head to look at Trevor. Her pretty features, however, were lost in the waterfall of curls. 'There's only one more!'

Trevor smiled and sighed at the same time. Oh well, it had been worth a try. If he could only smack her smouldering nether region the once more, then he would make sure it would be one she would remember him by!

Summoning up all his strength, his arm arced through the air and his flat palm delivered an almighty SELAPP! on to the up-poked, rosy summits.

The sting in his hand was too painful, but the effect on the girl's behind was simply sensational.

'Yaroooochh!' Lisa screeched at the top of her voice and her whole body, from head to toe, leaped into motion. Her shoulders shook, her hips writhed, her colourful buttocks rose up and down in frantic movements and she lewdly kicked her legs like a demented frog. Blatantly displayed was that most intimate part of her that the camera lens in Spain had not seen.

Trevor was absolutely delighted with Lisa's reaction. Perhaps he could sweet-talk her into a couple more slaps before he went for his train. After all, very few girls were willing to take it even lightly.

He had a long way to go home, but the trip had been well worthwhile.

* * *

Telling Lisa over the phone that he didn't live far away had been a big fib. The girl had naturally assumed that Glossy Snaps had got the pictures mixed up accidentally and that Trevor, out of the goodness of his heart, had kindly arranged to swap them over.

It had been nothing like that at all!

Trevor, a spanking devotee, was in fact the Production Manager at Glossy Snaps and he had to personally 'vet' any photographs which showed 'naughty bits' as the processing staff called them. That particular part of his duties suited him down to the ground. It was amazing the array of female flesh he had to look at sometimes, but it enabled him to make approaches to girls most likely to offer their bottoms for a voluntary roasting. Most approaches were not successful, but those girls who succumbed to his overtures never realised for one moment that the whole thing had been cleverly set up.

All the way home on the train, Trevor wondered what the next day's spools of film would bring. It was holiday time and he knew there would be a lot of 'naughty' snaps for him to censor.

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

A Perfect Position

Story from Fessee 10.

A Perfect Position
by Camilla Hope

IN HIS YOGA CLASSES, Hensai seldom spoke. His cane did all the talking. Long, lithe and supple, it disciplined the recalcitrant bodies of a dozen young ladies, all attempting to achieve the perfect pose.

Buttocks of all shapes and sizes reached for the sky in the 'plough' posture, spread generously in the 'cat,' wobbled enticingly in the 'golfer' and firmed out admirably in the 'pendulum'. If Hensai was amused or titillated by the sight, he gave no sign. Calmly, with a deft flick of the right wrist, born out of years of practice, he stung the backsides of those holding a position that reached short of perfection. Only a faultless asana would escape his silent, yet effective, reprimand.

Classes were held in a large studio attached to Hensai's Victorian mansion. At one end of the studio was a platform where he would demonstrate each asana for the benefit of his students. This was done slowly, deliberately and expertly, so that there could be little doubt in the minds of his acolytes as to what was expected of them. When he had finished his demonstration, the students moved slowly into position, whilst his keen, watchful eye regarded each one critically in turn. Only when the movement was complete, and each student had settled into the posture, did he step down from the platform and make his way around the immobile forms. He used his cane to correct any errors, and then metered out a single stroke with a force appropriate to the magnitude of correction needed, upon the unfortunate posterior of the miscreant.

You might be forgiven for thinking that only a very select few would have the courage to return week after week for the sting and humiliation of having their rumps publicly admonished for slackness, lack of attention or ineptitude. Not so. Hensai's classes were ever popular and always full. He never needed to advertise. Students came by recommendation, but were only accepted after an interview with the Master himself. Each prospective student was left in no doubt as to the nature and efficacy of the tuition, and signed a 'contract' accepting the terms and conditions, and an undertaking never to reveal the methods personally devised by Hensai himself. Any betrayal of this contract would result in instant dismissal from the course and a permanent ban from the 'school'.

It was only by the fortuitous emigration to New Zealand by a student that Margot was invited to join the beginner's class. Introduced by a long-standing, disciple and stalwart member of the advanced class, a few probing questions satisfied Hensai that Margot was of sufficient calibre to withstand the rigours of the strict discipline necessary for the practice of yoga.

New students were always 'worked in' lightly. As their bodies and limbs grew more supple and pliable, more was demanded of them, but for the first few weeks, all that Hensai asked was that the student worked to the best of her ability. The cane still controlled, but gently; gradually accustoming the acolyte to its encouraging 'kiss' across her rear quarters. Pain was not the purpose of Hensai. Yoga is a gentle form, and it was only when a student had reached the stage of possessing the ability to perform an asana fully correctly, yet insulted the form through laziness or inattention, that the full potential of the cane was felt.

In keeping with Hensai's insistence on discipline, all the students wore the same black leotards cut high over the hips, offering scant protection to the buttocks encased only in royal blue, footless tights. No under-wear was allowed; it marred the linear perfection of the human body, Hensai had explained patiently to those who questioned his decision.

Margot joined the class, and for several weeks worked conscientiously on all the asanas, practising daily at home, so that gradually her stiff limbs eased, her joints ceased to creak, and the relatively simple postures of the beginner's class became almost second nature. She was determined too that Hensai's cane never had cause to come into contact with her buxom rear quarters and, initially, she sensed that Hensai was well pleased with her progress.

In the changing room after each class, the other students rubbed their backsides ruefully and examined the pinkened cheeks, comparing notes and accusing Hensai of favouritism whenever one student had a noticeably redder bottom than anyone else. Margot's remained lily-white, and this came in for a certain amount of resentment as well. Disparaging remarks about cowardice came her way; how she should take greater risks and tempt providence, instead of remaining a 'goody two-shoes' and escaping penalty. It simply wasn't playing the game! Chastened, Margot promised to do worse, yet when it came to the crunch, she matched Hensai's standards of perfection, and simply could not bring herself to fall short of his requirements. Deep down too, she was scared, and knew only too well that she was putting off the evil moment; the sharp sting of Hensai's cane across her reluctant backside!

* * *

One wet and windy Friday evening, Margot arrived at the class tired after a hard week at the office. The other students were tired and fractious too, and Hensai's cane was wielded with greater abandon that evening than Margot had ever witnessed before. For the first time, she felt the cane nudge her into the correct position, and the whack across her exposed rump brought tears of mortification into her eyes and a flush to her cheek. An approving glance from the student next to her told her that at last she had been accepted as one of them, and as a slow warmth penetrated the affected area, her fear of corporal punishment diminished.

At the end of each class came a ten-minute period of deep relaxation. A tape of tidal waves ebbing and flowing onto a beach was played, encouraging each student to relax fully and completely, and to forget their problems in the outside, everyday world. As Margot sank into a wonderfully relaxed state, she became aware of a faint snoring coming from the student next to her. Someone falling asleep in Hensai's class! Surely this wasn't possible! Helen was still asleep when the relaxation period was over, and everyone had stretched their limbs back into life again, and filed out quietly into the changing room. One look at Hensai's stern face provoked no comment from the ladies as they left: they all knew that such a misdemeanour would most certainly call for an extra period of 'private tuition', of a kind reserved only for the most deserving.

Margot was halfway home when she realised that she had left her umbrella in the changing room. Although it had stopped raining, she was reluctant to leave it behind and risk losing it, so she retraced her steps back to the studio. She was surprised to find the front door still unlocked: the corridor leading to the changing room was dark, but the light shining through the half-glazed studio door enabled her to find her way. Stealthily, she crept towards the door, anxious not to be seen, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

A quick glance through the glass showed Helen completely naked, in the plough position, having her over-ripe bottom firmly dealt with by a wicked-looking paddle wielded by Hensai.


Fascinated, Margot continued to peer through the glass, keeping as much out of sight as possible. Little had she realised before how perfect the 'plough' was for such a punishment! Flat on her back, Helen's legs were raised from the waist in a shoulder stand, then passed right over the torso with her feet touching the ground some distance beyond her head. Her generous cheeks formed the apex of the triangle, right on target for chastisement. Even better, the recipient could watch the punishment being delivered! Each time the paddle descended, Helen gave a shriek before it even came into contact with her flesh. Then as it hit its mark, her shriek turned into a howl of anguish and she begged Hensai over and over again to stop. Tall and firm, he continued to belabour her quivering, reddened cheeks without mercy, each stroke in tune with a true perfectionist in the art; each wallop greeting its target accurately, so that the entire region was well and truly covered, but once only.

As a grand finale, he laid aside the paddle, picked up the cane and delivered one swift cut right across both cheeks, producing instantly a livid weal, and a heightened screech of protest from Helen.

Sensing that things were coming to an end, Margot quickly dived into the changing room, rescued her umbrella and fled from the annex as fast as she could possibly run.

For a while, it shamed her that witnessing Helen's punishment had produced an arousal more profound than she'd ever experienced before. 'Pervert', she muttered to herself as she ran most of the way home. But deep down inside she now knew just where her own fulfilment lay, and she was determined to achieve it one day very soon.

* * *

The following week before the yoga class, in spite of curiosity and questioning in the changing room, Helen gave nothing away much to everyone's disappointment. She privately planned to have the monopoly of Hensai's attention in 'private tuition' for as long as possible, and no way was she going to reveal the details to encourage the others! She hadn't reckoned on Margot though. That young lady was particularly observant in class that week. For the first time, she noticed that the other students deliberately made mistakes in order to feel the stroke of Hensai's cane. And this week, it seemed as though some of the young ladies were bending over backwards to incur Hensai's annoyance as frequently as possible. At the end of the session, the Master broke his habit of silence and gave the class a severe reprimand.

'The general standard of this class is falling, and I will not tolerate such laxity. I intend to make an example of you.' His eyes roamed severely round the room and alighted on Jane, who had already received more than here fair share of the cane during the lesson.

'Step up to the platform, Jane,' commanded Hensai in a voice of steel.

Trying to seem reluctant and apologetic, she obeyed. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, as she approached him. 'I promise that I'll do better next week.'

'And so you shall,' replied Hensai. 'But first a reprisal is due for this week. Bend over.'

With her upturned rear end facing the class, she braced herself for the punishment due. Hensai raised his arm and delivered six sharp cuts with the cane in swift succession.

As each blow fell, Jane gasped out loud with the pain and rocked forward on her heels. She could have refused to have taken her punishment and just walked right out of the door, but that would have been too humiliating in front of a class watching with expectant desire and envy. But it was obvious too that it really hurt; quite a far cry from the relatively gentle tap they all experienced on occasion during the lesson itself.

When Hensai had finished and allowed Jane to return to her place on the floor, he demanded whether anyone else would like to step up and receive the same. No one volunteered.

'In future, poor inattentive work in class will result in my choosing one of you to be severely punished. And to ensure that standards are kept high, I shall pick the least deserving among you. You will then be individually responsible for ensuring that no one else in the class is punished for your own misdemeanours. In plain English, the more any individual tries to goad me into giving you the kind of punishment which I know full well you enjoy, the least likely it will be by my own hand. Is that quite clear?'

The class with one accord mutually nodded their assent and Hensai curtly dismissed them.

Margot was now in something of a quandary. If she kept up her struggle for perfection, so that she was admonished by the cane the least frequently in class, she knew only too well that she'd be the victim on the platform. Yet once again, she was aroused at seeing Jane get her just desserts, and part of her longed for the same expert attention.

* * *

The following week, a slightly subdued class worked its way more competently at the asanas under Hensai's watchful gaze. It was noticeable that his cane descended less frequently on upturned rumps than in previous weeks, as the entire class genuinely strived for perfection. Whether it was through an individual desire to be called to account on the platform or through a genuine collective effort not to incur Hensai's wrath, we shall never know. Then Susan, the most recent member of the class, spoilt it all. She suddenly developed a fit of the giggles, which rapidly infected everyone else. In doing a head-stand, she had fallen on top of the girl in front of her, who did the same, causing most of the row to collapse like an ungainly heap of cards.

As the class struggled to regain control, Hensai strode up onto the platform. 'Enough!' he barked. 'All stand facing me.' Promptly, the ladies obeyed. Surely now they were all going to be dismissed from the school for good!

Hensai strode over to a corner cupboard and removed a thick leather tawse. He motioned the first student in front to climb the platform. 'Spread you legs, bend over and grasp your ankles,' he commanded in a voice which brooked no disobedience. She obeyed, and three punishing thwacks were delivered right across her exposed rear quarters. Red-faced, she stepped down, and the second student took her place and received the same treatment. That week, there were ten ladies in all, and each one regretted in turn having been led astray by Susan. The latter, of course, was the only one not to be called up onto the platform. True to his word, Hensai was not going to allow the culprit to enjoy the punishment.

If they all thought that that was the end of the matter, they were quite wrong. After the relaxation session, Hensai ordered them to sit in a semi-Lotus position. His eyes then rested on Margot and her heart sank. In spite of not having tried harder than the rest, she had needed no prompting from the cane that evening, and this, she knew now, meant trouble.

Reluctantly, she stood up and walked onto the platform. They had recently mastered the 'Salutation to the Sun' series of asanas, and he made her adopt one of them as being a highly suitable position for punishment. With her feet apart, resting firmly on the ground, she had to place her hands on the floor some distance in front, so that she formed a neat triangle with the floor as base. Her tights were stretched over her generous rump, and Margot doubted very much whether they would offer any real protection at all from the beating to come. She prayed that he wasn't going to use the cane; anything but that! She had seen the effect only too well after one stroke on Helen's backside!

Her relief when Hensai picked up the tawse again was short-lived. He began systematically at the top of her left buttock and worked his way downwards, thoroughly and evenly. Each stroke kindled a painful fire that Margot, in all her wildest imagination, had never dreamed of. His precision was masterly; never covering the same spot twice, yet not missing out a single square inch. At each stroke, her bottom quivered in protest, and she used every bit of control in her possession to stop herself from yelling out in anguish. This, she was determined to take stoically. The punishment was unfair, and she was certainly not going to give the rest of the class the satisfaction of knowing that the beating was almost beyond endurance. Manfully, she took it, even suppressing a gasp when Hensai delivered a final cut neatly on her inner thighs before more gently working his way between the two moons to the right buttock. Pain and pleasure rolled into one! The arousal that Margot was experiencing was not in the least subdued by the deep, throbbing heat that began spreading across her chastised bottom in a wide, painful liquid flame, that threatened to engulf her totally. It was over at last, and Hensai helped her to stand upright. Furious, humiliated and aroused at the same time, Margot wanted to strangle him. Instead, she bowed in the prescribed manner and thanked him for her punishment. The class watched silently as she slowly and painfully made her way out to the changing room.

In spite of being the first in, she was the last one out. The girls had gathered around to admire the livid red weals, which throbbed and burned until Margot took a cold shower to calm down the affected area. By the time she had patted herself dry, the others had left, and the studio was silent. Standing naked in front of the long mirror examining the damage for herself, there was an unexpected knock on the door. Hensai opened it and walked in.

'I thought that you might need this.' In his hand he held a large jar of cream. Margot juggled with her small towel trying to cover herself from his appraising gaze.

There was a long couch at one end of the changing room. He motioned her towards it and made her lie face down.

'You bore your punishment well,' he said. 'I'm very pleased with you.' Gently, he massaged in the cool, soothing cream and gradually the burning subsided. Lulled into a pleasant calmness by Hensai's administrations, she allowed him to take her further; to transport her to heights she had never previously reached, and suddenly the punishment seemed worthwhile. No sense of injustice remained. Just a perfect, complete union between herself and Hensai, which she wished would continue for ever!

Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Sam Ramsey serial, Ep.4. "A Strange Dynamics"

Story from Februs 33.

A Strange Dynamics
Episode four of the serial by Sam Ramsey

Episode 1 * * Episode 2 * * Episode 3

When Adam left his conference over a day early, and returned home unannounced, a stunning sight greeted his eyes as he quietly let himself into the house, sounds of arrival masked by the loud beat of old seventies numbers.

A pretty young girl, straw-coloured hair down her back, stood in the living room in very high heels, her breasts barely held by a tiny bra, her buttocks parted by the thong of her knickers. Across her behind, faint but unmistakable, were the residual marks of a recent caning. She was agitated, breathing hard, aroused. In one hand, she held a whip, which was curling across the slim behind of the woman leaning over the back of a sofa. That woman was Sarah, Adam's wife. A fine tracery of marks covered her back, extending even to her breasts. Sarah was grimacing, in pain, in pleasure, for the girl's other hand played between her thighs, frigging her fast. He recognized the signs; the older woman was near to coming. The whip swung again. Lighter, stimulating her breasts.

'Oh yes... just there.' And again.

Adam coughed. 'I see that when the cat is away...'

* * *

No, dear reader, there was not an instant orgy! Rather, there were cries of surprise, alarm, tears, and it was some time before order and quiet returned to the room.

For Adam, when the initial shock and excitement of witnessing that erotic tableau was past, the main feeling was one of tremendous relief. He knew very well that Sarah had been hiding something from him for at least the last couple of months; he had sensed her sexual withdrawal, and had feared that she had become involved with another man. But if this was the cause of her distance, a lesbian entanglement with a young girl, then it that was something he could cope with, and even take pleasure in.

Sarah was initially upset by the girl's evident distress at being caught in their perverse play. But then, when Anna calmed, Sarah too felt as if a weight had been lifted from her life. As she had fallen deeper and deeper in love with Anna, she had felt many pangs of guilt about the damage to her relationship with Adam. She knew that she had been distant and cool, which must have hurt and upset him; yet she couldn't quite bring herself to confess all, although part of her badly wanted to. The strength of her feelings had shaken and disturbed her. And in particular, Sarah had not come to terms with her discovery that she had deeply enjoyed inflicting on the young girl the kind of sensuous pain that she so often herself received from Adam's hands. But for this now to come out into the open, for her to be able to be straight again with Adam, would be a great relief.

It was Anna who was most distressed. She was half frightened, half angry, imagining that Adam's early return had been set up by the older couple. Had Sarah betrayed what Anna had taken to be a passionately sincere relationship; had she – horrible thought! – been treating the girl as a mere diversion to spice up a marriage? It was soon clear, though, that Sarah and Adam were each as much taken by surprise as she was. And Anna saw Sarah's genuine concern for her and felt her protectiveness. But still, for a while she was quite shocked, and felt a confused mixture of shame and boldness in front of Adam.

* * *

Later, near midnight, the three were sitting in the kitchen, the remains of a small supper on the table. Anna had to admire the way Adam had coped with the situation. He had been tactful and charming, and made her feel at ease remarkably quickly. Now she found herself curled up on a bench in the kitchen with her feet tucked under her, covered in a rather elegant silky wrap of Sarah's, laughing as he explained how his conference had turned out to be such a disaster, and why he'd returned home early.

They all sat round the table for another hour, as Adam chatted on, finding out how the two women had met, where Anna was at university, what course she was doing, and so on. She warmed to him, and could see why he and Sarah were so suited. And in turn Adam, looking past the girl's evident physical appeal, quickly recognized what Sarah had found so attractive, Anna's strangely alluring mixture of worldly wisdom and vulnerability, innocence and experience.

'Right,' said Adam a bit later, 'I'm to bed; it's been a very long day, so I'll sleep in the study. You look after Anna,' he added to Sarah, hugging her goodnight, and smiling at the young girl as he left the room.

The two women sat up a little longer, talking: then Sarah took Anna's hand, and they went up to the bed they had shared for the last two nights, and innocently cuddled each other to sleep. Sarah woke in the middle of the night, and gazed at the girl sleeping peacefully, her face lit by the silver light from the window.

'I do so love her,' she whispered to the watching moon.

* * *

'Will you stay another day?' asked Adam.

The three were back in the kitchen again, having a long late breakfast.

'We could go into the city when you are ready, then there's a late afternoon movie at the independent cinema that I'd really like to catch, and afterwards we could eat out...'

Anna looked at Sarah hesitantly.

'Yes, do stay,' Sarah encouraged.

Anna hesitated again. A vision flashed through her mind, of the three of them entwined naked: she knew what staying might lead to. But the other two were both smiling at her with open, friendly faces. Suddenly, she grinned back.

'I'd love too.'

So they went into the city centre. Anna hadn't yet seen the cathedral, so the older couple showed her round; and for a while they all sat listening to a fine choir rehearsing for a concert later that day. Then they split up, with Sarah and Anna going off shopping together: as they parted on the cathedral steps, Sarah whispered to Adam a suggestion of something to buy for Anna. Adam smiled broadly.

'A wicked idea,' he murmured back, 'I'm truly shocked if that's what you've been thinking while we've been admiring the music!'

Sarah punched him playfully, and taking Anna by the hand the two women walked off towards a row of rather classy small shops nearby.

An hour or so later, having bought Anna a pair of distinctly sexy high-heeled evening sandals, and both tried on some dresses, the women were in a up-market lingerie shop.

'Let me help choose some really pretty things, Anna; I'll like to buy you some.'

'You mustn't; you've bought me too much already,' said the girl, as she touched a French lace bra longingly, but you could tell her heart wasn't in the refusal.

So they selected together some of the filmy garments for Anna, and Sarah picked out a few things for herself and they went into adjoining changing cubicles to try on the bras. Sarah pulled back the curtain separating the little cubicles.

'Did you see how the shop girl was looking at you?' Sarah asked in a teasing whisper.

'What do you mean?' Anna replied, though she'd noticed the girl – very pretty, small features, with cropped dark hair, elegantly but simply dressed all in black in a tight T-shirt and tight trousers. She'd felt the girl's gaze as she had walked round the shop.

'I think she fancies the pants off you!'

'Hush! She'll hear! Don't be ridiculous.'

'You are blushing!'

'Oh, shut up!' Anna couldn't help laughing. At that moment, she was topless, standing in her jeans, her hair a bit dishevelled from having pulled a jumper over her head. She looked utterly beautiful. Sarah suddenly drew Anna towards her and kissed her hard. For a moment, the younger woman tried – not very seriously – to pull away, but then melted into the kiss, and put her arms around Sarah. There was a slight gap in the curtains at the front of the cubicle, and the pretty shop assistant was just outside, quietly tidying one of the racks: she noticed the embracing women through the gap, and caught Sarah's eye over Anna's shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, as Sarah held the shop girl's gaze, she bent to kiss one of Anna's erect nipples...

Meanwhile. Adam had collected the car and driven out to a trading estate on the edge of the city, his destination a new large sex shop that had recently opened there. He'd not been to the shop before, but he located it easily enough, though it was discreetly hidden behind one of the big stores. And he quickly found what Sarah had so wickedly suggested he should buy for Anna – a light two-tailed tawse (the tawse was, Sarah had often said, her favourite instrument to submit to, offering so many gradations of sensation from teasing tingling strokes, through exciting stings, to penetrating tongues of fire). His main errand accomplished, Adam looked round the rest of the large shop. There was the usual display of tawdry lingerie, vibrators of every size and colour, row upon row of videos... Nothing really appealed.

But then, slightly hidden by a rack of magazines, he suddenly saw something on a stand by itself. Adam swallowed hard as he inspected what he'd found more closely – it was intricate, rather well made, strikingly obscene. He tried to imagine Sarah with it. What would she think if he bought it? What would Anna think? Would they be excited or think it too perverse? Adam hesitated a long time. It cost the better part of a hundred pounds. But part of him knew full well that he would regret it for ever if he didn't take the plunge and risk the purchase. Finally, Adam took out his credit card and approached the counter.

* * *

The three met up later as arranged, went to an early show at the cinema, and then to Adam and Sarah's favourite cafe bar. They ate an enjoyable meal and Sarah teasingly flirted with both Adam and Anna. They pretended not to notice and tried to carry on an animated conversation about their favourite film-makers.

'I'll get another bottle of wine,' said Sarah. 'It's not fair; I'm driving,' complained Adam.

Sarah giggled. 'Hmmm. Maybe I'll make it up to you later.'

Adam caught Anna's quizzical eye, raised his eyebrows, and went back to their discussion, as his wife weaved her way to the bar.

It was mid-evening before the three finally collected the car, the women now mildly and very happily drunk.

'We'll sit in the back,' Sarah said to Adam, pulling Anna in after her. And in the rear-view mirror as he drove home, Adam caught glimpses of his passenger snatching a kiss.

'Keep your hands off each other, you wanton women!' he teased.

Anna stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror, and continued kissing Adam wife.

* * *

'Are we going to show each other our purchases, then?'

The three were now in the living room again, the room lit by candles scattered around, the remains of another bottle of wine on the table (though this time, Adam had drunk the main share).

'What's in your mysterious bag, Adam?'

'That's for later, perhaps: you two show me what you bought first.'

'Shall we show him, Anna?'

The girl paused: this was the moment of decision, she knew. Then she got up, pulling up Sarah by the hand.

'Come on then!'

The two women left the room, Sarah putting a CD on the player as she left; they returned a few minutes later. Anna was wearing her new evening sandals, black hold-up stockings, and a very pretty lacy black bra, with matching panties cut high on her thighs. Sarah, balancing on even higher heels, was similarly dressed – the two women had bought the identical, very expensive, lingerie. They sashayed down the room hand in hand to the music, and Adam burst into applause. They gave another couple of turns around the room, struck model-girl poses, and then went out again. A moment later, Sarah returned in another outfit, this time in white – cool and elegant. Adam tried to catch her as she swayed past, but she escaped him with laugh and posed some more, and then called out to Anna, who came back in her other purchases, long bare legs topped by small thong-backed knickers, then an almost transparent lacy white bra. The effect was somehow both girlish and sexy, both innocent and intensely provocative. She too paraded up and down as if on a cat walk, until Sarah took her hand and the women stood side by side, an arm round each other's waist.

'You both look quite beautiful,' said Adam, for once lost for more eloquent words. 'I've bought you something, Anna. I hope you'll like it. It was Sarah's idea... Shut your eyes!'

He reached into his bag, and brought out the tawse, and placed it in Anna's outstretched hands.

'I can feel what that is!' she cried after a moment, and opened her eyes. She grasped it, as if weighing it, and then flicked it through the air a few times.

Adam caught Sarah's eye, and motioned her towards the sofa. The woman lent over the arm. Adam tugged at her knickers, baring her buttocks.

'You must try it out,' he said to Anna.

'Can I?' she asked the older woman.

Sarah was silent, simply pushing out her beautiful behind. Anna raised the tawse and flicked Sarah's buttocks. And then again, and harder again. The buttocks flattened slightly and the woman gasped.

Then more strokes. Anna walked from side to side to change the angle of her strokes.

'You can be a bit fiercer than that,' said Adam.

And the girl plied the tawse again, planting a fiery kiss on the older woman's bottom. It was a light tawse, an instrument that would sting and bite but not deeply hurt.

'Yes, like that: give her six more like that.'

And Adam counted aloud as Anna cracked down the tawse on the reddening behind. The girl paused long between strokes as if savouring every moment. But eventually,

'Five.'

Sarah gasped as her buttocks flattened again and sprang back. Anna was breathing more heavily, her breasts rising and falling as she raised her arm for the last stroke.

'Six.'

Sarah cried out and involuntarily reached behind her to rub her arse.

'Hmmm. I think maybe you should kiss that better, Anna.'

And Adam lay some cushions on the floor, and taking Sarah's hand, laid her face down on them. Anna knelt behind the woman and leant over, touching the reddened flesh with delicate licks and kisses. Sarah soon began sighing with pleasure as the knowing tongue caressed her. Adam watched the women for a while, then quietly he asked Sarah to turn over. She did so, lay back languorously and spread her legs. And Anna, knowing what was expected of her, resumed the ministrations with her tongue but now at Sarah's moist core. Anna's beautiful thonged buttocks, raised as she bent between the woman's thighs, were quite irresistible. Adam picked up the tawse and laid it gently on the girl's behind. There was no murmur of dissent as she continued her licking. So still very gently, Adam caressed and touched Anna for the first time, not with his hand but with tingling, teasing strokes of the leather.


The woman lying back on the cushions began to moan as the girl's tongue probed and thrilled; and as Sarah's excitement mounted Adam began to make the strokes of the tawse less teasing, harder. Muffled sighs started from the girl between Sarah's thighs. Anna continued her licking, and Adam his fiery caresses. The girl softly moaned and hearing the sighs suddenly triggered Sarah's orgasm; she cried out and Adam simultaneously cracked the tawse in fierce final heat on the young girl's proffered behind.

* * *

A pause for recovery, for more drinks. Then Adam said, hesitantly, still not able to predict the women's reactions, 'I've something for you too, Sarah.'

'Hmmm, your mysterious package, eh? Well, are you going to show us now?'

Adam drew a box out of the bag, and laid it on the coffee table. There was an illustration on the lid. Sarah's eyes widened as she saw it.

'Oh my god, that's... that's obscene,' she gasped as she took the box and looked more closely. She swallowed hard, fascinated.

'What is it?' asked Anna, 'Let me look! Oh fuck... that is obscene. You're a pervert, Adam!' She laughed. Then, to Sarah, 'Go on, open it then, you must, you must...'

Sarah opened the box, and drew out its contents and held them up.

'Shall I...?'

'Of course,' the others chorused.

'Turn round then, both of you, don't watch.'

So Adam and Anna turned away; the man drew the young girl to him and started caressing her back, and his hand wandered down, down to slim buttocks, hot under his hand from the tawsing.

'God, you feel gorgeous!'

'Thank you, kind sir,' Anna simpered teasingly. She added, more quietly, 'Don't stop; that's really nice...'

Moments passed. Then, 'You can turn round now.'

So they did. Sarah was facing away from them, her back now crisscrossed by narrow black leather straps, with more straps buckled around her waist and diagonally across her buttocks. Then, slowly, she turned round. Straps framed her breasts and crossed her flat stomach and gathered at her crotch, and there, springing from the leather harness at her groin, proudly erect, rose a realistically sized phallus.

There was a stunned silence in the room as the two others drank in the sight.

'That's incredible,' said Adam.

'Wow...' said the girl.

'I'm glad you are impressed!' smiled Sarah, striking a pose, and then teetered around the room on her stilettos. She reached Anna, who held out her hand and touched the phallus.

'Oh. That's... nice. I thought it would be all hard and cold, but it's soft on the outside and warm.

The two women embraced. Anna feeling the phallus pressed against her.

'God, that feels sexy.'

The two women, arms tight around each other, started kissing. After a while, they parted.

'So, Sarah, are you going to use your new cock?' Adam reached into the bag again, and brought out the last item in it, a small bottle; he opened it and spread a little of the lube on the phallus.

Anna removed her lingerie and lay down again on the cushions and spread her beautiful slim legs akimbo; Sarah kneeled before her and gently placed the tip of her phallus at the entrance to Anna's core. She moved forward a little, Anna lifted her hips, and then the girl was penetrated. She sighed, and the two women rocked together, and with each stroke more of the phallus disappeared inside Anna. The women gazed into each others eyes and their bodies got into a slow sensuous rhythm of love-making. No words were necessary. Adam could see that Sarah was transported by the experience of pleasuring the young girl in this way that was simultaneously so natural and yet unnatural. And Anna was plainly being turned on again, making little sounds of enjoyment; her hands explored the contrast between the black straps and hard little metal rings framing Sarah's body and the soft skin between.

Adam, watching intently, was suddenly struck by a new thought, and got up, and carefully reached down the large heavy mirror over the fire place and leant it against a cupboard door.

'Anna,' he said quietly but in a firm voice that would brook no denial, 'get on your knees in front of the mirror; and Sarah, you now take her from behind.'

The two women disentangled and rearranged themselves. The phallus, now glistening, began to penetrate Anna from the new angle, and the girl sighed quietly once more. Sarah began to rock her hips again.

Then Anna understood why Adam had rearranged them. For in the mirror, she saw him reach for the cane from where she now knew it was kept; and she realized that while there had earlier been a tangle of legs, now Sarah's behind was a perfect target. She saw him rest his hand on Sarah's shoulder, raise the cane, pause, and then swish it down towards her lover's buttocks. At the moment of impact, Anna felt the phallus jolt inside her, and saw Sarah's face screw up with the pain as a moan escaped her lips.

'Frig yourself as you watch Sarah take it,' Adam instructed the girl. And propping herself up on one hand, she reached down with the other and began fingering herself. The two women locked gazes in the mirror, and Adam began to ply the cane again, slowly and quite hard.


With each stroke, Sarah cried out and the strange dynamics made her hips thrust forward with extra urgency, driving the phallus into Anna. With each stroke, the young girl cried out in a different way, with overwhelming pleasure as the dual sensation of the penetration and the masturbation combined with the exquisite turn-on of seeing Sarah suffer in giving her so much delight.

Adam, standing behind Sarah, could see both their faces in the mirror, and marvelled, as he had in the past, how close could be the expressions of sexual pleasure and of submissive pain.

The cane cracked down again; another stripe quickly appeared across Sarah's beautiful arse. The girl's fingers were now beginning to strum fast.

'Make yourself come soon,' Adam said, his voice a hoarse whisper from the sexual tension. And the fingers moved faster yet.

Sarah yelped as the cane bit harder, tears were beginning to form in her eyes, but her hips retained their sensuous rhythm. Again the cane fell, the sound loud in the silent room; this time it was Anna who moaned loudest as she felt the phallus jolt again and saw the older woman's face react to the renewed line of fire across her buttocks. Her orgasm was close. She mouthed to the woman in the mirror, 'I love you', and the woman worked the phallus inside her faster, with little bucking movements. Then Sarah cried out again as the cane striped her; two tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was smiling at the girl.

'Oh god, I'm coming, I'm coming...' cried the girl.

'Yes, yes, come for me, come for me,' panted the older woman. Anna's body began to shake as her orgasm mounted. And then Adam timed the final swish of the cane to perfection, bringing down the cane again, not too hard, but enough to make Sarah cry out one last time, and push her hips forward as if to escape the pain, and so she brought Anna over the brink and the girl's climax washed over her.

* * *

Later, when the two women had recovered a little from their shattering experiences, they playfully leapt on their tormentor and audience, and stripped off his clothes, and frolicked some more; and now they have created a tableau suitable to delight a bottom-worshipper such as he. Adam is kneeling behind Anna, his prick held deep by her delightfully tight little anus, while he is licking Sarah's striped behind as she stands astride the kneeling girl, his tongue slowly approaching her perfect rosebud. And with our three joined in this heavenly position, as sounds of pleasure begin to fill the room again, there, dear reader, we must leave them.

Episode 5

Monday, 30 January 2012

Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn

Story from Janus 13.

Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn
by R.T.Mason

'There she is,' said Cynthia Trumper, taking a postcard-sized photograph from her handbag and passing it across the table. 'I only hope she stays a bit longer than the last two.' The photo was of a pretty girl, perhaps 17, with short blonde hair smiling rather nervously at the camera.

Cynthia's companion in the tea shop, her long-time friend Amanda Mitchell-Smith, looked, pursed her lips, smiled: 'Mmm. Looks like Toby's type all right: pretty and perhaps a little bit shy. And if she's got a nice plump bottom as well I would say she was exactly his type!'

They both laughed — a shared acceptance of the weakness of men, and more especially of husbands. The photo of the Trumper's new maid was put away.

'Yes, she seems his type all right. Including the bottom,' said Cynthia. 'And it doesn't particularly bother me, as you know. I mean if he's got a little interest at home it does stop him wanting to make those trips into town all the time. I've met her at the agency but Toby hasn't actually seen her yet.' She laughed. 'More to the point she hasn't yet met Toby. I just hope he's a bit more sensible this time. Well, you know that the two previous ones were handing in their notice within a matter of days.'

Cynthia lowered her voice, although there was no one particularly near them in the tea shop. 'It's that cane of course. He's just a bit too enthusiastic with it at times and, well, girls nowadays aren't keen on that kind of thing.'

Amanda laughed: 'They never were. It's just that in the good old days they had no choice. I mean it was domestic service or nothing and they had to take whatever treatment they got.' She caught the waistress' eye for the bill. 'Well, good luck anyway. What's her name by the way?'

'Marjorie. Marjorie Simpkins. She's starting in two weeks.'

* * *

Two weeks later, the last Saturday in July, the young lady in question was, in the early afternoon, on the train leading into the heart of the Suffolk countryside. The photograph had not lied: she was indeed a very pretty blonde, now in a flowery light summer dress, the front of which was pushed out by evidently firm and shapely tits and below whose rather short skirt were equally shapely legs, bare knees primly together.

Bare legs primly together because there was one other passenger in her compartment, a middle-aged man sitting opposite whose eyes, whenever he looked up from his book, frankly acknowledged Marjorie's attractiveness. He had earlier suggested taking her to the buffet car for a drink but she had blushingly refused. He had not pressed her, merely inquiring where she was going. She was being met at Market Burton, she said.

Market Burton was the nearest station to her destination, Trumper Hall, and was only a minor stop, according to the letter from Sir Toby so she could half imagine herself missing it. If she happened to doze off for five minutes for instance, at the wrong time... Marjorie gave another anxious glance out of the window.

She anyway was feeling a little unsure of herself because this was her first trip of any distance from home by herself. She had had to make two changes of train to get finally onto this minor line and it was all just a little daunting. Still she should soon arrive now. If she didn't miss that stop...

Not only was it her first trip alone, it would also be her first job and that naturally made anyone a bit nervous. With the recession of course there were very few jobs of any sort, and it was only after her mother had been recommended to that agency that anything positive came up. Among other things the agency handled staff for large houses and, well, 'maid' didn't sound very grand but it was in the house of a real baronet, Sir Toby Trumper (and Lady Cynthia as well, of course). And really, as she told her friends, it wasn't just maid but also 'assistant' to Sir Toby. What did that mean? Well, she didn't really know but it certainly sounded better.

And anyway she had only just left school (albeit with 4 O Levels) and she couldn't expect the earth in her first job, as her dad pointed out. Several of her friends hadn't got a job at all. She had gone to the interview with Lady Cynthia and had been offered the post in spite of having no experience, and with quite good wages considering she wouldn't have her keep to pay for. So she had taken her parents' advice and accepted.

Lady Cynthia she had found nice but a little overpowering: a very attractive brunette in her 30's, stylishly dressed and wearing a subtle perfume which Marjorie was sure was terribly expensive. She was charming and friendly but some of her questions, asked with a direct unwavering gaze, were a little disconcerting. Did Marjorie have a boyfriend? She knew she had blushed as she answered truthfully that, yes, she had. Then, without beating about the bush, was Marjorie a virgin? And Marjorie had of course blushed even more as she answered, again quite truthfully, that, yes, she was. Well, really!

Lady Cynthia had smiled and put her arm round Marjorie: 'I hope you didn't mind me asking, my dear, but one has to be careful these days as I'm sure you appreciate...'

Then after the interview, two days later, had come the letter from Sir Toby himself, saying he was so looking forward to seeing her, etc., etc., and asking her to send her measurements. For her uniform. It was all very detailed what he wanted: height, weight, bust, waist, hips; size of bra (and specify cup size). Even size of shoes and specify narrow, medium or wide fitting. Up until then she hadn't really appreciated that she would be wearing a uniform. She had answered the letter by return as requested, wondering what the uniform would be like...

That had been two weeks ago as now she sat in the train anxiously glancing at intervals out of the window. Two weeks: would that mean he had the uniform ready? She wondered about this; about Sir Toby and what he was like; and also about Trumper Hall. It was all such a big adventure. In between the wondering and the glancing out of the window there were also her mother and dad and of course Ian, her boyfriend, to think about. She had promised to write to all of them this evening before going to bed.

Yes, there was really so much to think about. She gave another look out of the window, and then up at the luggage rack to assure herself that her case, and her hat, were still there. Noting the direction of the man opposite's glance, she gave a little tug at the hem of her skirt...

Suddenly they were braking, slowing. She looked out. Fields, and then the beginning of a small town. They continued to slow. Then a station, the platform sign announcing 'Market Burton'. The train jerked to a halt.

Nervously she got to her feet to reach up for her case. As she did so the man opposite got up as well, to stand close behind her. 'Are you sure you can manage?' he asked in a lecherous rasp.

He made no attempt to help her though: instead his hands came forward and firmly took hold of Marjorie's bottom, cupping the cheeks.

As if stung, she let out a sharp 'Ooooh!' But with arms raised and struggling with her case which was in danger of falling, there was nothing she could immediately do except, well, let him do it. And he just held her bottom in his two hands, squeezing and feeling through her thin dress and knickers while she grappled with the case. It was only when she'd finally got it down on the seat that she could push him and his hands away. It was really awful...

There was still, of course, her hat up there on the rack and the train could start off again at any moment. Red-faced, she stammered, 'Please... Pl...please don't do that...' Then half turning so that this time her bottom was away from him she warily reached up again and quickly snatched it down. Sweating, she took her case and hat, one in each hand.

Too late she realised that with her hands full she was once more unprotected. The awful man moved up close behind her again as she went out into the corridor. She felt his hands groping her again.

'Ooooh!' This time, cringing, she felt one hand lifting up her short skirt and the other quickly running up her bare thighs... to her tightly-knickered rear! She was shocked. She stumbled down off the train just as the hand was reaching in between her legs....

On the platform, breathless and confused, Marjorie looked bewilderedly around: the sudden shock of what had happened had made her quite forget the arrangements for meeting. Then a man in a tweed suit with a red face and a big moustache was introducing himself, saying something about her hat. Of course. Her wide-brimmed straw hat with its blue ribbon had been her identification.

Sir Toby took her case and his other hand took her arm, squeezing it as he walked her off the platform. Had she had a good trip? Still trembling she said, a bit doubtfully: 'Yes. Yes thank you, Sir.'

Outside, waiting in the car park, was a big car, a Daimler, she saw, with an older man in a peaked cap standing by it. That would be George — Mr Briggs — the handyman-chauffeur, whose wife Gladys was housekeeper. She shook hands with him, then he put her case in the boot. Sir Toby held one of the rear doors open for her.

She stepped in, as she did so giving a sharp involuntary yelp. For as she bent forward to enter, a hand, obviously Sir Toby's, was suddenly at her bottom, fondling her buttocks in very much the same way as that man on the train. She flushed scarlet, shaking all over in her emotional commotion.

They were soon on the road to Trumper Hall, Sir Toby sitting close up next to her, chatting in a friendly way. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, and forget that man in the train — and also what Sir Toby himself had just done. But there was soon something else to think about because Sir Toby, in his friendly way, had almost at once put one arm round her, behind her head, his hand resting on her shoulder...

And as he talked, the hand, seeming quite independent of its owner, gradually moved down. Onto Marjorie's boob. First sort of brushing over it and then quite definitely holding it. Holding, in its thin covering of summer dress and light bra, Marjorie's left, medium-sized, firm, tip-tilted boob. Sir Toby continued talking. George continued driving. Marjorie tried not to squirm. The fingers squeezed, fondled... felt for her nipple which was soon, she realised hotly, becoming erect.

She did her best to ignore it and concentrate on what Sir Toby was saying. He was after all her employer... well, perhaps he was just absent-minded. And didn't really realise he was doing it....

* * *

10.30 that evening and Marjorie knew she should be getting into bed, especially as tomorrow would be her first day of work, with her alarm set for 7 a.m.; but first she really wanted to finish this letter to Ian. There was obviously so much to tell him — though equally there were the bits she didn't want to tell. That awful man on the train for one thing; and also, what she now unhappily realised after her first few hours at Trumper Hall, the very definite similar inclinations on Sir Toby's part. If it was absent-mindedness he seemed to be absent minded an awful lot of the time. His hands just seemed to automatically reach out whenever she was within reaching distance and, well, she certainly didn't like it but there wasn't really a lot she could do. Still, there was plenty more she could write about.

She had met the rest of the staff: Mrs Briggs, the housekeeper, who had made her a cup of tea when she arrived, and a boy about her own age who helped with the garden. He didn't live in but came over from the village. And of course there was Lady Cynthia, whom she'd already met.

After her tea Sir Toby had shown her her room which was quite nice and cozy, overlooking the garden. And there on her bed waiting for her had been her uniform. She was wearing it now as she sat at her desk writing her letter. Quite frankly she didn't like the uniform: it was, well, rather sexy. But she supposed she would get used to it.

The dress itself was of black silky material with white collar and cuffs; quite tight, and buttoning down the front and with a tight short skirt. There were black seamed nylons to wear with the dress which was sufficiently short that when she was standing its hem just reached the tops of the nylons. When she was sitting there was inevitably, however much she tugged at the hem, a show of several inches of Marjorie's bare thighs plus black suspenders.

To go with this were black patent leather pumps with 4-inch stiletto heels — which Marjorie, not being used to, had some difficulty walking on; and a small white lacy cap, rather like a nurse's cap, to be pinned to her blonde head. Additionally there was a brief white pinafore to be worn at certain times. And underneath? Well, the undies had to match, said Sir Toby. With the black satin suspender belt were slinky black French knickers, and a matching silk and lace bra.

'Do you like it?' Sir Toby had asked. 'Hopefully it will all fit nicely.' Marjorie couldn't help blushing when he held up the black French knickers, and mumbled that it all looked extremely sweet.

He added that she was probably hot and tired after her journey, so she should have a bath and then she could change into the uniform and report to his study. 'Get changed into your dressing-gown in here,' he said, 'have your bath and then come back here and get dressed.'

After that, although it was quite bright in her room he went round turning on all the lights. 'Always have plenty of lights on, my dear. That way you won't strain your eyes.'

He had gone out and closed her door, after one more of those absent-minded feels at her behind. And she did as he suggested, going along to the bathroom in her dressing-gown and having a nice relaxing bath; and then coming back and putting on the uniform.

She had never worn nylons and a suspender belt before and then felt a bit strange. Everything fitted very well, though; except that the dress itself was quite tight. But Sir Toby, when she went down to his study, said that was how it was supposed to be. He told her she looked very nice indeed — and then, inevitably it seemed, squeezed her tits and fondled her bottom. Then he made her lift her skirt to show him the knickers and, blushing like a neon beam, she had no option but to comply. She had a bit of trouble pulling the tight skirt up....

'Come closer, my dear. That's it.' His hand squeezed her bottom in the slinky knickers and then: 'Turn round, please, to face me...'

And then the bit she would particularly like to forget — his hand reaching out to feel her... down there... the crotch of the French knickers, as he inquired: 'Not too tight here, I hope?' That, she thought hotly, would definitely not be going in her letter.

She turned her thoughts away to more pleasant aspects of her day: her tour round the house with Mrs Briggs, for instance, who told her that parts of it were 500 years old and it was supposed to have some secret passages. And outside, in the garden, which was really beautiful, and there was also a kitchen garden where they grew all their own vegetables. (Or more specifically Mr Briggs and the boy, Colin, grew them.)

She was just going on to say that he, Colin, seemed quite nice when there was a knock at the door. It was Sir Toby come to see, he said, that everything was all right. Come also to have a few feels, it seemed. Marjorie, backing away, tried to fend him off without giving offence. As the hands reached out for various parts of her he said it really was time she got to bed: she had a full day in front of her and would have to be up early.

'Yes, you really should get to bed right away.' And presumably intending to be helpful, Sir Toby's fingers were at her dress, unfastening the top button. Marjorie gave a yelp of horror. Surely he wasn't actually planning to....

'Please... please! No, Sir! I will. I'll... I'll go to bed right away. But please... please go now, please Sir.' Fending him off she said pleadingly, 'Goodnight, Sir.'

Thankfully he took the hint. 'All right then. Still a little bit shy, aren't we?' A final squeeze at her tits and then he let go.

As he went out he switched on the main light which was off. 'Remember your eyes, my dear. Keep all the lights on until you're in bed.'

Marjorie said, 'Yes. Yes, I will,' simply grateful that he was going. For a moment she had really thought he was intending to undress her...

She had better do as he said, and get to bed. It was sensible as she had that early start in the morning, and besides she had said she would and she liked to think she did what she said. She would probably have time to finish the letter in the morning for she had now written quite a lot. She started unbuttoning her dress — something which a few minutes earlier her employer had seemed so keen to do....

Sir Toby, eyes fixed and countenance a full two shades deeper than its normal ruddy due, was looking intently and in a state of some excitement. He was seated on a chair in a passage which ran behind Marjorie's room, looking through a narrow opening produced by sliding back a small section of the wood panelling of her wall. Looking of course at Marjorie who now, in the brightly lit room, had just removed her dress and was in the process of unfastening her bra.

He was looking, of course, as he had been earlier when she had first undressed for her bath and then afterwards slipped off her dressing gown to put on the uniform.

His excitement, now, was not only evident from his bright pink face. For it must be said that in addition the front of his tweed trousers was open to display, in all its glory, a fully erect and eager-looking generative organ: the organ on which future generations of Trumpers depended for their very existence. Sadly Sir Toby at present had no thought for this, no thought of the fact that there was as yet no Trumper heir and that he should be inserting the aforesaid organ into Lady Cynthia for the purpose of producing one. No, sad to say, that organ was being used — urgently stroked — simply for Sir Toby's own pleasure.

* * *

The next morning it was all go from the moment the alarm jangled Marjorie abruptly awake at seven. Get up and wash; then, still half asleep, struggle into her uniform and go down and make a cup of tea to be taken up to Mrs Briggs. Then, while Mrs B. made the breakfast, start on a round of hoovering, dusting and cleaning. 'Just keep at it nice and steady,' said Mrs Briggs. Marjorie, who had never done much of this at home, was soon feeling worn out.

Then after breakfast with the Briggs she had to go up to Lady Cynthia and Sir Toby. Lady Cynthia didn't have breakfast, Marjorie just had to knock at her door and wake her, but Sir Toby did and she had to take it in to him. Apprehensively, into his room, carrying her tray, approaching his bed warily... And with good reason for as soon as she was within grabbing range he grabbed, running his hand up her short skirt.

She just managed to avoid tipping the whole lot — toast, bacon, coffee, everything — over the bed, and it would have served him right if it had gone all over him, she thought ruefully. She extricated herself from his clutches and put the tray down on his bedside table... and was immediately grabbed again and pulled across the bed. Another struggle, from which she finally escaped with several buttons of her dress undone and two of her suspenders unfastened....

After this little interlude there was more hoovering until at 10.30 she had to go along to Sir Toby's study. Her first session of helping him. Understandably she was not looking forward to it.

It turned out that he was engaged in writing a history of the Trumpers and he wanted her — well, as a general dogsbody really. Fetching books from his shelves, copying out bits that he wanted to use, and that kind of thing; and if it hadn't been for Sir Toby it might have been quite interesting. But....

For one thing it seemed that all the books he wanted were on the top shelves (he probably put them there specially, she thought). So this meant that Marjorie had to go up the library ladder to get them. Presenting Sir Toby, standing close below, with a clear, uninterrupted view up that short skirt of bare thighs and suspenders and black French knickers. And of course Sir Toby was not content with looking. His hand immediately followed her up, was at her thighs, her bottom, as she teetered on the high-heeled shoes.

It was awful but by now it was no more or less than she had come to expect from her employer, and there was nothing she could do about it — except cringe. Her unhappy cries of: 'Please... please, Sir. I'll fall if you keep doing that,' were quite simply ignored.

On her fourth climb up the ladder she didn't actually fall but came close to it as the hand up her skirt was suddenly more probing than ever. However, as she grabbed for the ladder rail to keep from falling, the two books she was holding did fall, crashing to the floor. Crestfallen, still with Sir Toby's hand in attendance at her bottom, Marjorie descended.

One book was discovered to have a partly broken spine. 'Utter carelessness!' Sir Toby exclaimed grimly. 'I'm afraid I'll have to see you in your room about this.'

It was now almost time for Marjorie to go and help Mrs B. with the lunch. 'Right after lunch then,' said Sir Toby. 'You will go to your room and I'll see you there.'

Biting her lip she went along to the kitchen. What was going to happen now?

The staff had their lunch in the kitchen but Marjorie, after what Sir Toby had said, suddenly didn't feel hungry in the slightest.

'Come on, dear, drink up your soup,' said Mrs Briggs. 'It's real home-made, none of your packet muck.'

Marjorie had a mouthful but she just couldn't take another. Then to make things worse Colin, who yesterday when she had met him seemed quite nice, now did not seem particularly nice at all. In between slurps of his own soup he loudly asked: 'Well Marjorie, has Sir Toby taken your knickers down yet?'

The poor girl, completely taken aback, didn't know what to say. She slowly flushed a deep crimson....

Mrs Briggs said sharply: 'Now Colin, we'll have none of that talk in this kitchen, if you please.'

Colin, innocent-sounding: 'What did I say wrong?'

'You know very well, young man.'

'Look Mrs B., you know he's going to take her knickers down — if he hasn't done it already. George here knows it and I know it. And if she doesn't know it yet then she soon will.'

'I said, Colin, we will have none of that talk! I will not have a word said against the master in this house. If he needs to discipline a member of the staff then that's his own business. Now get on with your lunch. Just remember I could say a few things about you, young man.'

She turned to Marjorie. 'And you, Marjorie dear, come on, eat up. I don't want your mother saying I starve you, now do I?'

But Marjorie felt more like bursting into tears than eating.

* * *

Sitting in her room, on tenterhooks, waiting. And there was longer to wait because she had gone up early, finally managing to finish her soup but that was all and then asking to be excused. Longer to wait but it came all too soon: the quick knock and then Sir Toby entering.

She stood apprehensively before him; and he lost no time in getting to the point. She had been extremely careless (that was his version of what had happened) and carelessness called for punishment.

'And I don't believe in messing about docking wages,' said Sir Toby, with largesse. 'As far as I'm concerned, in this house punishment for a maid is the good old-fashioned kind. Yes, my girl, a good spanking.'

After what had been said at lunch it was of course what she had been dreading, but nonetheless... she could scarcely believe it. She bit her lip. She looked scintillating to him.

'Yes, Miss. And on your bare bottom of course. It needs to be something you'll feel and remember.'

Marjorie blinked, afraid the tears would come. She half felt she might be dreaming. It was just not credible that she, 17 and left school, could actually be... could actually have her knickers taken down. And it was all so unfair — because it had clearly been Sir Toby's fault, not hers. She thought hotly of the others — the Briggs and Colin. They obviously all knew this was going to happen... were probably laughingly discussing it....

'Come on then.' Sir Toby took the chair from her desk and put it in the middle of the room; then sat down heavily on it.

'Come on. Over my lap.'

Abjectly she did as she was told. Sir Toby manipulating her into position, getting her bottom up over his lap, then dragging up the tight skirt. His hands at her knickers, pulling them down... then groping her bare bottom, on and on. A grunt of satisfaction. Another.

A slight pause and then it started — his hard open palm cracking down with a sharp resounding Smack! squarely across both buttocks. Marjorie gave an involuntary jerk, and yelped. The stinging pain was still seeping up into her as his hand came down in a second hard Smack! on top of the first. The pretty bottom jerked again. 'Ooooh! Oh Please!' Smack! And again... 'Oooohhh!'

Holding the desperately wriggling Marjorie with his left arm firmly round her waist he continued to belabour her bare bottom and upper thighs, working his way systematically over every inch of the soft firm girlish flesh. The whole area felt like it was burning and in spite of herself she was soon in tears — from the stinging pain and also from the sheer humiliation of what was happening. It seemed it would never end, his hand tirelessly smacking down again and again on her poor captive rear...

Finally a pause, Sir Toby resting his hand on her glowing bottom. Breathing hard, he asked: 'Have you learnt your lesson then, Marjorie?'

A gasping: 'Yes... Yes Sir!'

'Good then, in that case...'

Marjorie gave a sudden shocked 'Oooohh!', at the same time jerking her body so violently that this time she came right off his lap onto the floor. The cause of this — the hand which had been resting on her bottom suddenly becoming... very intimate.

* * *

Sir Toby spanked her again the next day and again the day after — each time, as on the first occasion, with her knickers down, and each time, also as before, for no real reason at all. After the third spanking she was taken along to his study where, opening a cupboard, he showed her a medium length whippy cane.

He flexed it. 'You've had three spankings now, Marjorie, and the next time it will be this cane. I always hate to have to use it but I'm afraid that when a maid shows continuing carelessness as you are doing there is really no option. So please be warned.'

He swished the cane through the air and brought it down with a resounding Thwack! across the arm of his leather armchair. The sickening sound sent a shiver through Marjorie. For she was sure that, far from hating to use it, he had every intention of finding an excuse at the earliest opportunity. She blanched, imagining that stick cutting across her bottom...

It was at this point that she had her first really serious doubts about staying at Trumper Hall. She had so far done her best to accept all that business — the being constantly felt up by Sir Toby, and these awful spankings — because, well, it was a job and with good wages and she hated to disappoint her parents. But all of this side of things was something which before coming she had just not dreamt of. This latest development, though — this awful, frightful-looking cane — was just too much.

And besides, there had been something else earlier that day which had made her even more unhappy about this place, something which had quite shocked her. It hadn't directly involved Marjorie, it had been Lady Cynthia and Colin but... well, if that sort of thing was going on....

She had been cleaning Lady Cynthia's rooms and had been in the bedroom when she heard Lady Cynthia come into the adjoining sitting room. Shortly after, before Marjorie had time to make her presence known, there had been a knock at the sitting room door. It was Colin. Marjorie had remained where she was, not intending to spy, but turning round she realised she could see through the crack of the door.

Lady Cynthia, sitting at her desk, said: 'Lock the door, Colin, and come over here.'

He stood close in front of her as she said softly: 'Well, what do you think of our new addition?'

'She's all right.'

'All right? Is that all? You're not getting interested then?'

'Why should I? I've seen 17-year-old girls before.'

'Well, I hope so, Colin. You know Sir Toby wouldn't like you messing about with her. And neither should I.'

Then before Marjorie's unbelieving eyes Lady Cynthia reached out and cupped her hand over the front of his trousers. Over his... And started rubbing her hand over it and Marjorie could see... it was bulging... Like Ian's did when they'd been smooching for a bit.

And then Lady Cynthia's hand was going up to the belt of Colin's trousers and, incredibly, was slipping his zip down... Her hand in, fumbling, and then... she had it out... a large thick stiff thing, with a purplish head, pointing up and out. Colin just stood there, his face red, as Lady Cynthia took hold of it and started stroking it up and down. Marjorie, her face also red, could hardly bear to look — but equally she could not take her eyes off this shocking scene. She had never seen one before, not in that erect state... Not even Ian's, not to actually see it....

Lady Cynthia continued her rhythmic stroking while Colin got even redder in the face and was making groaning sounds. And then he was suddenly convulsively jerking his body and Lady Cynthia was pointing it away... And it was jerking, and spurting out....

Afterwards, Colin zipping up his trousers as Lady Cynthia said: 'You had better go and see if George wants you.'

And then Lady Cynthia herself went out, leaving the cowering Marjorie undiscovered.

* * *

Marjorie's caning came the very next day — at Sir Toby's first excuse. She had been carrying a vase of flowers upstairs; Sir Toby coming up behind her had put his hand up her skirt between her legs. She had yelped, and had lost contact with the vase. It had not broken but nonetheless: 'More sheer carelessness,' said Sir Toby.

'Come to my study right after lunch. This time it will be the cane, as I promised you. Six on your bare bottom.'

And that was what it was — six across the full flesh of Marjorie's bare bottom as she was bent over the edge of his desk with her arms stretched out to grip the other side, and with her skirt unbuttoned to the waist and flipped up over her back and those French knickers pulled down to her knees. Six vicious breath-stopping cuts which had her writhing and jerking and crying out from the sheer awful unbelievable pain....

Afterwards, sobbing, she pulled up her knickers and buttoned up the skirt. Sir Toby, putting his cane away in the cupboard, said cheerfully: 'There'll be plenty more where that came from until we've got you properly trained, my girl. Now go along and report to Mrs Briggs.'

To make matters worse — in addition to a still viciously stinging bottom — it seemed that the others all knew what had happened. Had they been standing outside Sir Toby's study listening to the swish-clack of the cane and her howls? Anyway Mrs Briggs, with a knowing look, asked kindly if she would like a nice cup of tea and said not to worry, it would soon feel better. And Colin, when Mrs Briggs went out of the room, laughed rather cruelly and slapped Marjorie's bottom, saying: 'Does it sting, dear?'

Poor Marjorie simply broke into tears again.

* * *

Two hours later, at about 4 o'clock, George — Mr Briggs — was saying the same thing: 'Does it still sting then, young Marjorie?'

She was in the dining room cleaning the silver and the place seemed deserted: Lady Cynthia out, Mrs B. gone shopping in the village, Colin working in the garden. And of course at this time of day Sir Toby liked to take a nap. That left George though — who quietly entered the room and, suddenly coming up behind her, put his arm round her waist. He repeated: 'Does your bottom still sting?'

She jumped with fright at his sudden presence. Mr Briggs was someone she had so far seen little of, except at mealtimes. It was the first time she'd been alone with him. Her bottom certainly did still sting but she wasn't sure she wanted him inquiring about it. And she was certain of this when the hand came down and cupped one of her bottom cheeks as he said 'Don't you worry, my girl. A girl's bottom is made to take a little punishment; and Sir Toby don't mean no harm. You'll soon get used to it.'

Marjorie in fact now had no intention of getting used to it, for after actually having that awful caning she had every intention of giving in her notice. (She planned to do it in the morning, if she could summon up the nerve to confront Sir Toby.) And she also did not want George's hand on her bottom. She squirmed away:

'Please Mr Briggs. Don't... don't do that.' She had to take it from Sir Toby but....

'Now young Marjorie, don't be like that. I'll tell you what. Mrs B's got some nice soothing cream that I can fetch and rub on it. That'll make you feel a lot better.'

'No... No... thank you. I... I don't need that.' The thought of George doing what he'd suggested... She cringed....

'Now don't you come all hoity-toity, Miss. I'm only being friendly. And just remember, you wouldn't like me going to Sir Toby and saying... well, saying I saw you sitting in here with your feet up on the table when you was supposed to be working. He'd very soon have that cane out again I can tell you.

She felt a dart of panic: 'No, Mr Briggs... you wouldn't. You just couldn't...'

He moved closer and put his arms round her from behind. 'Not if you're nice and friendly I won't. All right. We'll forget about that cream. Just let old George have a feel of these pretty tits. I mean why should Sir Toby be the only one.'

His hands cupped her boobs through the tight dress. Then he was unfastening the buttons.

'Mr Briggs! Please! Please don't!'

George didn't seem to hear. 'Now just you remember what I said, Miss, and everything'll he all right.'

His fingers clumsily unfastened the buttons until her dress was open to the waist. His hand shot in and round the back... to the clasp of her bra. Opening it, he pulled the bra up and off — 'Ahh! Ain't they a picture...'

Marjorie's tits, high, firm, pink nipples standing out as a result of all this sudden action... Disappearing into two large work-roughened hands... 'Ahh, my lovely...' George was now grinding himself against her still-sore bottom... Squeezing the tits....

'Arrrh!... That's nice... that's... really nice....'

* * *

10 o'clock and Marjorie was getting ready for bed — with all the lights on of course. She unbuttoned her dress and slipped it off. Then her knickers. The unseen watcher, in his regular vantage place, saw with satisfaction, and obvious excitement, that the six stripes were still clearly delineated across her rounded bottom.

Life here is just impossible, Marjorie thought, unfastening her suspenders. Really quite impossible, she told herself for the hundredth time. Well, it was bad enough to have Sir Toby constantly doing it, but now what hateful Mr Briggs had done... Not to mention that dreadful caning. She really felt very close to tears again. But one thing was certain: she would give in her notice in the morning. She switched off the light and got into bed...

She lay, half dozing, wondering vaguely what she would actually say to Sir Toby. She could always claim her mother needed her at home if she wasn't brave enough to say anything else. Just so long as she could leave at the earliest opportunity. Her bottom still hurt... She thought of Ian....

Suddenly she was conscious that someone was at the side of her bed and was bending over her. She was abruptly awake, the most awful possibilities flashing across her mind. (Chiefly of course Rape! Mr Briggs had come to rape her. Or a burglar, after the family silver, was going to rape her first before he made off.) But then the intruder spoke — and the voice was that of Lady Cynthia.

Saying softly: 'I've just come to see you're all right, Marjorie dear.' She stroked her face. 'I mean, I heard you were caned today. So I thought you might like a little comforting....'

And in the dim light Marjorie could see Lady Cynthia unfastening the belt of her dressing gown. She took it off. Underneath she was nude. And she was pulling back the bed clothes and getting in....

Lady Cynthia's firm nude body, hot, scented, nipples stiffly erect, pressed against Marjorie; Lady Cynthia sighed, 'You poor dear,' and then her wet mouth against Marjorie's, her tongue forcing open Marjorie's mouth and pushing in. And Lady Cynthia's hand going down and lifting Marjorie's nightie, to come up between her legs and take hold of the fur-covered mound. Her mouth disengaging, then at Marjorie's ear, and breathing hotly: 'You poor thing. Don't worry, I know just the thing to make you forget. Open your legs, dear.'

A dazed Marjorie felt herself being boldly, firmly, handled. The lips of her sex being opened, the fingers entering, expertly manipulating, stroking; one finger firmly up into Marjorie's tight tunnel....

* * *

Cynthia and Amanda were sitting at their favourite corner table in the tea shop.

'Staff!' said Cynthia. 'What a problem!'

'She didn't stay long then. That little Marjorie.'

Cynthia grimaced: 'No, I'm afraid not.'

'Toby and his cane?'

'Yes. As you might guess, he couldn't resist giving her a taste of it. After only a few days, I'm afraid.' Cynthia laughed. 'Still, I suppose you could say he had his money's worth in the short time she was with us. She had to give a week's notice of course and, well, he gave our little Miss a dose of it every day during that week.'

Amanda laughed, then gave her friend a knowing look: 'And what about you, Cynthia?'

'What about me?'

'Now don't be coy. You know you like these young and innocent ones yourself. Not the cane of course. But... well did you?'

Cynthia laughed again. 'Really Amanda. Can't I have any secrets?'

'Darling, not from your best friend surely!'

'Well all right. She was rather nice. And with Toby caning her like that I did feel I should... well, comfort her a little.'

'I bet!'

'Mmm. And really although she was a shy little thing, once Toby'd had that cane on her bottom a couple of times... well, I think it must have released some inhibitions.'

'Cynthia dear, you are mean! You could at least have let me have a little go with her. And that reminds me: when are you going to send that young Colin over to my place!'

* * *

The principal subject of this conversation, young Marjorie Simpkins, was at this moment sitting in the manager's office of Top Girls Employment Agency. Looking hesitantly at the manager across the other side of his desk, and then looking down at her skirt as she said: 'Well, I'll consider anything really. Anything except domestic service, that is.'

'Not happy with that, eh?' His eyes glanced keenly at Marjorie's primly closed bare knees.

'No, I... Well, I had a post but... well, it didn't work out too well.'

Mr Aitken got up and came to sit beside her on the couch: 'Some of these landed gentry can be pretty awful to work for.'

It was evidently the right thing to say. Marjorie's eyes were raised again, a look of gratitude for such sentiments.

'Oh, Mr Aitken, if only you knew. It really was. Well, I just had to leave and so therefore I haven't any references.'

'Don't you worry, young lady. I'm quite sure we'll find you something. Yes.' His largish hand reached out and took hold of her knee. Or rather the thigh just above the knee.

Marjorie gave a look of surprise. But the hand squeezed reassuringly.

'Yes I'm sure we can find you something.'

The hand relaxed. Then moved just slightly further up her thigh and squeezed again....

Once more she felt that tingle of apprehension. But she really needed another job, and if Mr Aitken had got something... She forced herself to sit still as she asked: 'What... what do you have exactly?'

* * *

Well, just what could Mr Aitken provide? Apart that is from the hand insistently working its way up under Marjorie's skirt?

Part two of
Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn appears in next month's Janus.

---------------------------------------

Thus ends the text of the story in the Janus 13. Unfortunately, in the next issue of Janus was printed the following phrase:

"Part two of Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn, promised for this issue, has had to be held out for legal reasons. We are therefore substituting another story by the same writer."

Instead of the second part of the story "Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn" in the Janus 14 was published story "Thursday" by R.T. Mason. And, as far as I know, the second part of the story "Marjorie Simpkins: A Maiden All Forlorn" has not appeared in Janus at all. What happened with Marjorie further - we can only guess...