Friday, 23 April 2010

In the third person - photo story

Photo story from Janus 90.

In the third person

'THE PEST is here again. Crossing the road right now, Sugar.'

'Don't call me that, Lydia.'

'But you are my sugar-daddy.'

'I'd hoped I was something more.'

'We'll have to see, won't we? I don't know how I'm going to feel – I've never done this before.'

The entryphone buzzed from below. 'Come on up,' said Lydia coldly into the speaker. 'You'll find some clothes on a chair in the hall. You will change into them, and wait there until you're called.'

They heard the lift in the mansion block rumbling upwards. 'My dearest,' he pursued, 'you will feel as intensely erotic and stimulated as I feel just to look at you in that outfit. In this respect I know you better than you know yourself.'

Lydia had slipped off her Mandarin wrap and turned to him. She wore a skimpy bra and panties trimmed with lace; seamed stockings with suspender-belt, glossy shoes with five-inch heels. All in black. This was his fantasy made flesh, and the thought of that already warmed her. Beautiful and erotic as Lydia looked, the long crook-handled cane she was flexing in her hands completed the picture for him.

He watched her slender fingers sensuously stroking the shaft. 'Well, Lydia,' he breathed. 'Now you are ready to put your "pest" firmly in her place, aren't you...?'

Beyond the closed door of the room they were in, Jean entered the apartment and looked wonderingly at the scraps of clothing Lydia had instructed her to change into. Why? A small girl of 18, as plain as her heroine Lydia was lovely, she was not aware that her frequent visits here had become a nuisance. It was simply that she seemed unable to keep away from the tall, auburn-haired beauty with the perfect face and figure and network of adoring manfriends! Jean knew she could never aspire to be like Lydia, but to be with her seemed the next best thing.

Although the instruction perplexed Jean, if it was Lydia's wish then she would do it. Stripping off her day clothes she slowly pulled on the snowy white pants, top and socks. They felt snug and cool against her skin. 'Wait until you're called,' Lydia had said. So Jean waited. And waited. Minutes passed, she began to fidget. Whatever was Lydia doing in there? Apprehension stirred – this had never happened before. For Jean, the worst possible thing would be Lydia's ignoring her. Perhaps she had forgotten she was there. Should she knock?

'Stand up straight, girl! Hands to your sides!' a cultured male voice commanded through the intercom. Jean jumped with fright. There was a man in there! She stood to attention, blushing fiercely. Her heart raced. More minutes passed; Jean began to feel alarmed. Her palms and feet were moist with sweat. Should she dress again and slip away? More minutes ticked away, then more...

'Enter!' came the same deep voice through the speaker. Jean turned and opened the door, shivering and anxious.

'Come here – Jeanie.' This time the voice was Lydia's, with a sneer in it as she used the diminutive name. The girl gasped at the sight of her worshipped friend standing there in scandalous scanties, her expression severe in a manner Jean had never seen before. But what riveted her attention was the long, springy cane Lydia was flexing in her hands.

A cane.

Jean sensed rather than saw the man standing watching behind her. 'Don't dare turn round!' said Lydia. 'As far as you're concerned, only you and I are in this room. Do you understand?'

'But Lydia... And why are you wearing...?'

'Quiet! Do you understand?'

'Y-yes!' Jean swallowed hard. 'Lydia, why am I wearing this? I – I only dropped in for a chat.'

'You've "dropped in for a chat" once too often, my girl. Are you a puppy dog? A duckling that's lost its mother? It's time you were taught a lesson – and I intend to do it!'

'Lydia...' Jean half-turned, apprehensive and confused, towards the man in the shadows.

'Don't turn, I said!' rebuked Lydia. 'How dare you disobey me. Get down!' Her voice was harsh as never before, and she tapped the cane on the girl's shoulder, making her flinch. 'On the floor. Kneel before me!'

More confused than ever, Jean sank to her knees. 'Lower! Prostrate yourself!' Jean found herself responding. Strangely, it seemed somehow beautiful, as she lowered her face to the carpet with haunches in the air, to perform this act of self-abasement before the one she so admired.

'Kiss my feet.' Lydia's voice had become lower, huskier. Jean pressed her lips against the glossy blacknesses, inhaling the tang of leather. She began to kiss the shoes more fervently as entirely new sensations awoke in her; lapped and kissed and sucked as though Lydia's shoes were the face of a lover. The watching eyes behind her were, for the moment, forgotten.

'Turn around.' Lydia's voice had changed again, was slightly hoarse. 'Turn round and show me that part of you I'm about to attend to with this.' Jean felt the cane tap her left buttock, and she scrambled around the floor as bidden. 'Arch your back,' she was instructed. 'Push your wicked little bottom up and out.'

Jean did so, experiencing a warm, novel thrill. She had long since convinced herself that she was dull and plain, that no part of her could possibly arouse the least interest in man or woman. Yet here was Lydia looking at her bottom, of all things, as though it were something special. At least, she was looking at it.

'Stand up and turn to me!' Jean scrambled to her feet and stood humbly before her friend. Lydia's expression was stony as she surveyed her with a cold sneer, the cane in her hand raised admonishingly. 'Hang your head, you shameless pest,' she said, and watched the girl flinch and grow pale. 'You are about to be punished. By me. I shall cane your bottom, and I promise it will be an experience you will never forget.'

Lydia saw how submissively the girl stared down, biting her lip as the words sank in. 'You may well look guilty, my little pest,' Lydia hissed, 'but you thoroughly deserve to be punished, don't you agree?'

Jean was unable to meet her eyes. 'I... yes... I suppose so, Lydia,' she mumbled, 'I know I've been a nuisance...'

She drew the unresisting Jean to her feet and turned her about, then prowled behind her, heady with power. The cane felt lithe and flexible in her grip. She longed to swish it down as he had made her practise earlier, with a cushion as the target.

The sound of the cane flashing down with whop after whop to thump into the cushion, together with the movements of Lydia's body and her squeals of effort as she put her force behind each stroke, had so evidently stimulated him that the exercise itself had become erotic to Lydia too. She had gradually grown more proficient in her aim and swing, and had reached that critical point he spoke of, where the cane seemed literally to become a living extension of her right arm. When that same cane struck Jean's living flesh, how different would the sound be? Lydia had never even guessed at this latent, now urgent, desire within her psyche to dominate another – but he had seen it and induced her to address it.

It will come naturally to you, he had said. Sure enough, she found herself fingering the cane with an exquisite gloating feeling, longing for that quivering, pencil-slim shaft to come alive in her hands for a real purpose.

'Bend forward across the bed... Jeanie. I want your bottom tightly over.'

There was no longer any doubt in the girl's mind what was about to happen. For the first time in her young life she was to experience the possibly unbearable pain of a stick hitting her rump. This practice had long since been banned at the school she had left only two years before; but sometimes, in the midst of fantasy, she had wondered vaguely what it must have been like. Jean found herself leaning steeply over the bed, taking her weight on her hands and presenting what she had always referred to as her 'bum' for the promised punishment. This was, alter all, Lydia, and not some hatchet-faced schoolmarm of a bygone decade. Lydia, about to cane her! Jean's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil.

'Please, Lydia,' she began. 'I'm very tender there... My bottom hurts easily.'

'Quiet, or I'll hit it even harder!'


'Push it UP! OUT! Push that arse OUT. Come along, good and tight!' As if frantic to please, or too frightened to do otherwise, Jean made an incurving arch of her back, straining backwards and rising on tiptoes, and Lydia watched with satisfaction how the while pants tautened across the suddenly tempting rumps.

'Ple-e-ease.' Jean turned her head, eyes pleading then widening in alarm as they watched the cane rise then speed down with a shocking hiss, striking her tensed bottom and skidding off. The girl yelped, in surprise rather than pain, for the impact had not really hurt.

Lydia could feel his disapproval. A ripe young bottom at your mercy, and all you can do is tickle it! Preparing for the second shot, Lydia lifted the cane above her shoulder, eyes smouldering, muscles tensing. This time she took careful aim and swung with greater force. The cane struck full across Jean's buttocks with a loud report, and the jarring of the contact shuddered up her arm.

Jean shrieked as a streak of fire burned through the thin fabric of the white pants and deep into her bottom, spreading like a shockwave. It was intolerable. But before the frightful hurt abated, another searing brand blasted across her buttocks, then another, and another as the cane swung back and forth through the air to collide with her tightly-knickered flesh: whick-whick-whopp.

Lydia watched the girl trample her feet and draw deep, gasping breaths. Somehow it wasn't Jean any more, but an eroticised object on which she was wreaking a glorious vengeance. As she continued to swing the cane strongly against the tender globes in the tight white pants, felt and heard the explosive impacts, swung high and down again, driving the stick hard to its target, the sound of it all was bliss – the jolt as each stroke connected, the shrieked response and convulsive shudder, the sense of absolute dominance over the stooped, trembling girl – all thrilled Lydia to the roots of her being.

She was barely aware of his presence now, yet the fact that he was there charged the air with erotic tension. She brought the cane whopping down one more time, drank in the whack, the yelp, the reactive kick of the leg, the groan of near-despair. 'Please, Lydia,' came the pitiful voice. 'N-no more. It hurts so much...'

Lydia realised that she was panting, fell a flush in her cheeks and his eyes watching absorbedly the transformations taking place in her. She was aware, too, that her feelings matched his own: she was becoming phenomenally aroused, though in a higher form than the merely physical. It was as much a transcendence of the spirit as a stirring in the loins. After this extraordinary experience she would do more than grant him her favours: she would demand her own tumultuous satisfactions.

Jean had sunk forward on the bed and was whimpering piteously. 'I'll give you something to sniffle about!' her tormentor snapped. 'Take off your knickers and bare your bottom!'

Moaning, the girl obeyed, squirming across the bed as she wriggled the pants down her legs. With Jean's buttocks now fully exposed, Lydia saw them as an erotic focus that almost made her gasp: two smooth, pale, moony orbs just made to be caned. For a moment she could scarcely breathe, and the hand which held the cane shook. She thought she heard him chuckle, damn him, as she leaned down to tap the cute buttocks and watch them wobble and shudder.

Had Jean been aware of the feelings her supposedly plain, dumpy bum was awakening in Lydia as well as in the watcher, she would have been astounded. Yet she trembled with trepidation that even keener pain would soon be visiting her burningly sore rumps. The cane tapped them tauntingly, then rose high behind her. There was a hiss, a grunt, and a sizzling brand ignited her naked bottom as the cane found its mark!

'Oooooaw-aghhh!' This time the pain was far more intense than at any time during the caning over the knickers that had been provided for her to wear. For Jean, the humiliation of baring her bottom in front of Lydia and receiving corporal punishment from her was quite bad enough, but the dim knowledge that there was a man in the room watching her ordeal was mortifying. Lydia began to cane steadily, making weird little cries in her throat as, again and again, the speeding cane collided with Jean's seething buttocks and leaped away, printing burning tracks across the soft mounds.

Whimpers and shrieks came from the girl as she squirmed beneath the flexible stick. In her eagerness Lydia half-knelt on the bed to better direct the strokes, while Jean watched helplessly over her shoulder as the cane descended. She writhed her hips and clenched every muscle, striving to absorb the blazing hurt; though, had she but known it, Lydia's application was only moderate compared with what it might have been. As the cane continued to rise and fall the air was filled with yelps, grunts and gasps from both females: one in pain and appalled embarrassment, the other in elation; while the rhythmic swish and thwick, hiss and thwack of the rod as Lydia swept it down again and again was a torment for one and a delight for the other.

Lydia had become well aware by now that caning was a skill indeed, and that she was a natural – laying the strokes as though she had been born to it, exulting not so much in the stings she was inflicting as the supreme sense of power which sent her senses soaring to higher levels of awareness and making her, in a way impossible to define, more complete.

For a moment she paused to catch her breath, watching with a dispassion that surprised her as Jean wept into her hands. With taunting gentleness she tapped the cane on the tormented buttocks, enjoying how the pneumatic surfaces flinched, quivered and settled as the girl groaned louder.

For Jean, with her bottom apparently on fire, those two little cane-taps on its burning surface seemed to say that her punishment was over at last. She sniffled into wet hands, thankfully becoming limp as Lydia told her the good news in words as well. And then she heard her mistress being congratulated by that deep male voice.

As Lydia ceased to concentrate on Jean's bare bottom she discovered that her own was tingling as if in sympathetic rapport with the other – and realised that his gaze had now switched to her buttocks and was hungrily caressing them. She felt a physical thrill to think that where his eyes were roaming, his lips and tongue would very soon be doing the same.

Lydia turned away from the softly sobbing girl with a mysterious smile. He had been right. All three in that room had been transformed by what had just taken place, and her relationship with Jean had at last become meaningful for her. She wondered whether the girl would be coming around quite so often in the future, and what would happen when she did.

Lydia turned to him. And smiled again.

Breaking point

Story from Uniform Girls 38.

Breaking point

Of all the penal establishments she could have been sent to, Tracy felt that the bleak brick building was without question the worst. She accepted that she deserved the angry reprisal of the juditiory but she could not reconcile within her own mind that she warranted the awful place to which she was now being delivered. Tracy was gifted by a very curvy anatomy with a facial attractiveness that induced the male members of her immediate circle itch to be with her and she was like a magnet wherever she went. These attributes did nothing for her when she came before the harsh dispensers of justice although the one serious faced judge did think that it was a pity that such an attractive young person should have got herself into such a mess. But it was not the first time, simply because she was a natural rebel and her conduct of behaviour was of such a nature that it would not be tolerated. She mistakenly thought that she would go to one of the open penal establishments and on occasions the laxity of discipline in those places had sometimes made the stay quite enjoyable!!

A lot of freedom was allowed in the open houses despite the detailed "lights out" regime, and this she had found quite easy to take. But she had listened with shock when the older of the judges had somberly told her that lenient measures had failed so the other alternative would be the very extreme alternative and when she had been led from the court room, she had been like a numbed helpless individual. The place to which she had been sent was hardly known except to those who had been detained in the other establishments and when she had been in the open prisons other girls had spoken of "Bleak House" in awed whispers and with an emphasis of dread. Tracy used to think that it was all rumours and that the girls had made the place worse than it was; sometimes the stories that were related were too extraordinary to even be believed; and all the narratives that had been related by the girls whom she had met were stories that had been handed down from person to person until the very mention of "Bleak House" was considered to be a fairy tale and certainly to be taken with a pinch of salt. It seemed nobody was ever sent there, but it was used as a threat to warn off erring young ladies from committing the cardinal sin of earning themselves a place in such a terrible building.

Tracy sat in the small cell room beneath the court house, her face ash white as she recalled the numerous stories that she had heard of the establishment which she was now to be sent. Nobody seemed to know where it was and it did not matter if they did because there were no relations or friends who would be interested. It would be as though she would be swallowed up with no outside communication at all; and her friends being the type that they were would soon forget that she existed so that whatever happened to her would be like an unwritten book... nobody would know, nobody would care and she would be a pawn in the hands of the dreaded principles of the harsh prison.

A stone faced police woman gave her a hot cup of gruesome cocoa which she sipped gratefully.

"Your life is about to undergo a traumatic transission," the uniformed woman told her.

Tracy could not bring herself to respond but just simply sat there staring at the white painted brickwork opposite.

Would they really cane her? Would she really be made to expose herself without being able to defend herself? Would she really have to suffer the dreadful privations and humiliations? Would they really be able to make her scream and still continue to heap numerous stripes of leather beating down onto her soft buttocks? All this was purely hearsay from the mouths of the girls whom she had met at the pleasanter surroundings of the open houses, but although she had been vociferous in her arguments and had sneered in misbelief, she was now very uncertain of herself. She was still in a land far from this place when she heard the bolts of the detention cell being withdrawn. She looked up and saw the guard enter.

"Alright. On your feet. Let's go," the woman snapped.

Now that she had been subjected to the harshness of this place, Tracy was in no mind to start an argument by being sullen. That sort of attitude went out a long time ago. Even in the open houses, cooperation was recognised and therefore severe penal retributions were avoided. She stood up and walked behind the uniformed woman. The vehicle was waiting with a side door open and she stepped into the interior but the fact that she felt the attendant's hand on her bottom as though to help her into the vehicle went without complaining... Tracy was no fool and she decided that there was no premium in making it difficult for herself on the long journey. So when the young blonde attendant deliberately stroked her hand over Tracy's bottom as she stepped up into the van, Tracy remained for the fleeting second letting the woman "enjoy" the feet of her rounded nate through her jeans.

"This can be pleasant or hard," the blonde told her. "You can travel in a secured cubicle or out here in the back with me."

"I'd prefer the back please, Miss," Tracy told her falteringly.

"Right. Be sure to behave yourself. You must not speak unless you are spoken to and you will make no movement until you have permission," the terse instruction was intentionally clear and precise.

The van started to move off and she was pleased that there were no windows which could be used by prying outsiders. Although she could see out, nobody could see into the van because of the manner of the very glazed windows with slitted lines of clear glass.

"You've made a right mess of your life you have," the police woman told her. "Fancy letting yourself get sent to Bleak House," the woman did not mind speaking like this. She had a very attractive young woman with her and she had not been unaware that Tracy had stayed still as she carressed the tight material of her jeans.

"Take a tip from me. When you are in Bleak House, do as you are told. Do not start having thoughts of your own regarding modesty or demure attitudes. Whatever they tell you to do you do it... if you don't they will make you very sorry for any rebellious reaction... and anyway, whatever you might refuse to do in the first place, they will soon have you changing your mind and you will scream to be allowed to do that very act which you might have thought humiliating. Am I getting through to you."

"Yes, Miss," she replied softly.

"They have a fond habit of using a leather strap on a girl and they strap you across your naked rear, and you are not just bending over either... when they decide a girl is to be punished they see that she remains perfectly still over the bench whilst the full measure of the punishment is applied. And they don't go in for small numbers there. There is no such figure below eighteen and you will learn that eighteen strokes of the crop is a small number indeed. I have seen girls come out from that place as broken women... you behave yourself, do as you are told... exactly as you are told and you will avoid the crop... the Warder there is a young man but he will not have you punished physically if you prove your willingness to repay the debt to society... understand?"

"Yes, miss. I think so," Tracy felt the shiver of horror simmer through her.

"Now, we have a long trip ahead so you may as well make yourself as comfortable as possible," the guard told her.

It was the first act or word of kindness that Tracy had received since she had been in custody and she felt that there was a rapport with this blonde young police woman.

"Loosen your clothing," the guard told her, "no point in being closely buttoned."

The interior of the van was certainly warm and Tracy blinked back her initial shock reaction. She was not fooled one little bit by the pleasant nature of her guard and hoping that whatever she did now would hold her in good stead at Bleak House, she slowly undid the buttons of her blouse under the intently interesting gaze of the watching blond.

"That's the way my beauty, take it off," she said with a quiet firmness.

Sitting in just a half cup bra, Tracy blushed furiously as she got the picture of the intentions of her keeper. The smooth white shoulders and her arms were exposed just as the top halves of her bosom. The creamy skin balls of her breasts were attractively and provocatively revealed.

"Why not take your brassier off as well," the guard suggested firmly.

Trying hard not to make any protesting response, Tracy gave the woman a cursury glance and then removed the brassiere. The full uptilted aureoles showed perfectly formed and smooth with the pink nipples protruding full and cherry tipped.

"Now your jeans and panties; let me have a good look at you," the guard was delighted that she was going to enjoy the naked portrayal of this delicious lovely.

Helplessly, Tracy smoothered the sob of humiliation as she slowly discarded the remainder of her clothing and felt foolish as she sat there completely undressed under the bright stare of the police guard. She was soon laying the length of the long bench seat, but beneath her tummy the police woman's knees and this caused her smoothly rounded and shapely bottom to thrust upwards. She bit into her fist as she felt the hands stroking over the round orbs and even up the insides of her thighs as she was forcefully keeping them apart to allow the guard to have the freedom of her body.

"Yes, a very delightful bottom... and legs... and I like this part too," the blond told her as she played gently with the soft crevice of Tracy's quim.

The luckless girl, bit harder onto her balled fist and felt the tremors of shame give way to tingling sensations of pleasure as her pussy flesh was carressed and played with... This was not very fair, she argued with herself; how could she expect to stay over the other woman's lap and have her naked body played with like this. The whole of her bottom had been teased mercilessly and those fingers had stroked and prodded her shamefully, and now she was laying with her legs slack so that her very sexual core could be fondled by the Sapphic woman guard. It did not help when she was told to turn over and now her torso was bowed backwards and the soft furry thatch of her pubes were being digitally titivated into an even higher state of excitement by the blond who held sway over Tracy's comfort for the next three hours.

When they pulled up to the castle type establishment, Tracy was dressed again, but her face still bore the blushes of her experience in the back of the van. For the first time she had been made to kneel before the parted thighs of another woman and her mouth had been directed how to bring full pleasure to a woman who she did not exactly hate, but she most certainly despised her. It had been a nasty thing to make her do and she had not been allowed to reach anything like a pinnacle of sex herself.

She waited whilst the guard disappeared into the inner area of the grim looking building and the blond had told her that she would try to put in a good word on her behalf. She desperately hoped so. When the guard appeared again at long last, she spoke in a low voice to the reception clerk who was the most granite faced thing Tracy had ever seen. They were selected by their austere looks rather than their ability to do the job, and of that Tracy was very sure. She saw the receptionist nod, and hoped that the guard was not telling her what had taken place in the van, and then the white coated woman stood up and came to the counter at which Tracy waited.

"Alright. Bath first. Administration afterwards," she said in a flat toned voice.

"Remember what I said," the blonde gave her a half smile of encouragement and then walked out to the mess where she was to eat before making the rotten journey back. Tracy had been a lovely companion and she was going to miss her dreadfully. They did not come like that every day and usually the type of girl she had to transport was hard faced and a dyed-in-the-wool tearaway.

When she finished bathing, Tracy discovered that she was to wear a regulation uniform. A crisp white blouse that was one size too small so that her full breasted bosom was thrust fully and exagerately against the cloth, a pair of very tight fitting briefs that exposed more of her than they covered by the cut of the panty legs, but they clung tightly to her body and the legs themselves swept up from the gusset so that a good three quarters of her bottom thrust out below the garment itself, and then the black skirt which came well up her legs so that the crutch of her body was almost uncovered. Her feet were placed in impossibly high heeled sandals with a strap across the foot to keep them on and then she was brushing out her shoulder length fair hair to study herself in the polished mirror to see the reaction of this new mode of life on her person. Her face was slightly pale, but when she heard the receptionist returning she did not understand why but she blushed and this gave her face a better hue.

"Come along, Newman; you have to see the warder and he does not like being kept waiting."

There still had been no administration work, but they had all the time in the world to register. The whole place reaked of cleanliness and everything was either white or polished. The smell of the antiseptic soap invaded the nostrils but it was the deathly hush that she found most depressing. Her heels clicked as she tried to keep up with the receptionist and then they were through two doors and into a carpeted passage. The atmosphere changed immediately. It was as she had stepped into another world. The walls were panelled and had paintings and there was a highly polished door immediately in front of them.

"Wait here," she was told tersely, and then the woman knocked on the door, waited for a few moments before going into the room the other side.

Tracy could feel her heart beating hard and furiously and she was still feeling the shame at being attired like this. She looked down at the full length of her legs as they thrust down from beneath her skirt... skirt? It was more like a wide belt. She could feel the air round her legs and then she saw how her soft breasts thrust forward as though fighting to be free of the confining blouse. Three buttons prevented the material from gaping open but those three buttons held her breasts as prisoners inside the white blouse. The door opened again and she was taken by the arm into the carpeted area of the Warder.

She had been warned that he was a young man but his very young appearance certainly surprised her. He certainly was nowhere near twenty five yet but he was a tall, well built man who carried an austere yet good looking face. "Newman," he said as he looked down at the papers that had accompanied her. She inwardly squirmed when she heard his voice. He gently smoked a cigarette and read her Crime Dossier and all the biographic details. No relations. Nobody who would be interested in her. Interesting, he thought because like any other body who had been in contact with Tracy, he decided there and then that she was a natural beauty and he liked the shape of her legs and the full thrusting bosom on her chest.

"In this establishment, we have only one code of practise and that is obedience," he started to tell her as though warning her from the outset that she was in no position to argue, protest or appeal. "You will question nothing that you are told to do. Nothing. Obedience is the only reaction I and the others require of you; the reason that you are told to do something does not and probably will not be explained to you; only the fact that it pleases whoever is in charge of you wishes you to do something is sufficient excuse for you to be responsive in such a manner that you will obediently react. We have a system of corporal punishment here and that punishment is always, always without exception applied to your bottom," he emphasised. "When punishment is meted out here, you will be completely undressed and you be laid on a bench and secured so that the area to be caned is uppermost and properly situated for the reception of that cane. Once the number of strokes has been decided then the full number will be given... there will be no deviation whatsoever, and the reason I am telling you this from the outset is because I want you to know that you will have no excuse in the future to say that you were not warned."

He watched the discomfort of her mind registering on her body and liked the way her face blushed furiously at the helplessness of her present surroundings.

"You are here for three years and doubtless you will earn yourself many thrashings... but I promise you faithfully that when you leave my establishment you will be the best trained young lady the society wish to have among it," he stubbed the cigarette out.

Tracy felt the shock waves of hopelessness throb through her and an inward shudder filled her with dread. The very idea of being stripped and stretched on a board was the least appealing thing she could envisage, and she was terrified of the power of this young man.

"Now let me have a look at you," he said and looked at her expectantly.

"Sir?" she said non-plussed and saw the irritation cross his face. Oh Lord, let me understand his ambiguous instructions she prayed.

"Let me have a look at you," he repeated testily.

She choked back her natural reluctance when the penny dropped and then with trembling fingers she undid her blouse. She hoped that she was doing the right thing and because he did not stop her, she continued. She still felt the defencelessness as she peeled the blouse from her shoulders and stood there with her naked breasts attractively thrusting forward... the nipples immediately became full when they felt the warm air of his office fanning round them. He nodded appreciatively and then watched as she undid her skirt with a coquettish glance towards him. She was pleased that she had listened to the guard now when she was being transported here. She was soon in her panties such as they were and then stifling her natural reluctance to do this, she pushed them down her lovely legs. Tracy stood naked and fully shamed before the interested Warder. He told her to stand with her hands behind her back and to pull back stiffly on her shoulders. When she had enhanced the forward thrust of her titties by the attentive posture, she was still busy trying to prevent the tears of angry frustration that threatened to spill down her face. This was truly terrible having to stand like this with the whole of her body nakedly portrayed before this young man. Her nerves stiffened slightly when he stood up after keeping her like that for several minutes and then he was standing immediately before her inwardly quaking body.

"I rather think that you might lighten your sentence time here," he told her quietly and there was a wealth of meaning in his statement. "My next instruction to you is to stand still... absolutely still," he told her.

She blinked back her reluctance when she felt his smooth palms stroking up her waist... her teeth nibbled the inside of her lower lip because even before his hands got to her breasts the nipples had responded in an anticipation of being played with. He cupped her soft bosom in his hands and squeezed them to enhance their firmness... his thumbs stroked over her sex gorged nipples and she had to prevent herself from mewing in shocked response.

"Stand still," he warned her and then she felt his finger tips stroking her fair pubic hair...

"Very good... very good," he quietly complimented her when he thrust his hand between her legs to feel her soft labia mouth. "Are you prepared to be obedient woman... very, very obedient?" he asked her firmly but gently.

"Aaaah... yesss... yes, sir," she moaned helplessly as she felt his fingers firmly stroking easily over her sex.

It was impossible for her to remain so passively acceptable; he was expert at feeling pussies and soon he had her in a highly sexual state... she could not prevent herself from pushing pelvis forward and he smiled when he felt her body responding to his carressing hand... she was disappointed when he stopped!!

"Now turn round," he instructed and on weak legs, Tracy presented her firm round buttocks to him. She felt him fondling the cheeks of her bottom and tried to remain slack so that she caused him no offence.

"Bend over and reach for your toes," he said smoothly.

Tracy felt another worrying niggle ripple along her nerves as she obeyed the very demanding command and then only her shame was uppermost as she remained bending over letting him fondle the bareness of her backside... even when he stopped his very searching carresses, she had to remain bending over. She heard him changing the furniture and this puzzled her. "Now I want you on your knees on that chair," he directed her.

She saw how he had placed a wide armed chair in front of his desk... her legs could hardly carry her as she stepped towards it. When he gave her the explicit order to kneel on the arms themselves, she had to stretch her legs wide apart so that they could rest on the arms of the chair itself. Then another crushing blow came when he directed her to bend over and get her breasts down onto the desk with her arms stretching towards the opposite edge... the effect on her shapely bottom was one of pure thrilling reaction. Her bottom became most pronouncedly thrusting and the contours perfectly rounded... her shame was at its lowest point and she knew that only the fear of the threatened whipping on the punishment bench which he had described to her made her so perfectly submissive... but pure humiliation was now filling her body and mind as she visualised the picture of subjection she was being forced to present to him... the slight upthrust of her nates with her thighs so widely parted could only reveal to him the full exposure of her soft lipped sex... and he was most certainly studying this now as he stood behind her enjoying the view that her open body was showing off to him... he decided there and then that this girl would have to stay in close proximity to his office... he did not want to butchy warderesses getting their hands on her... nor the inmates... they eat her up in a very short space of time... she was by far the best thing he had ever encountered since coming to this rotten hell-hole.

"Newman," he broke the silence, "I am going to cane you simply because it will give me pleasure to do so... I intend twelve strokes for now... you can either take it from me or have twenty four strokes of the leather strap from the guards... they will of course assemble the block which you will be housed and then give you the twenty four whilst you are strapped down... I am prepared to give you the choice... twelve of the cane from me and whilst you are here, or twenty four of the strap whilst you are secured to the bench in front of the inmates of that block."

Choice? She nearly burst out crying. She had been obedient. She had suffered every form of indignity to please him and now, just because it gave him pleasure she was to be caned across her bare bottom for no reason whatsoever... it was the cruel injustice of it all that she could not take...

"Well?" he demanded her answer...

"I... oh please, sir... please..." she cried out... then she realised that she was falling into a trap... she wanted to plead with him not to make her do this terrible thing, but realised that there would be no choice if she faltered in her reply...

"I... I would rather you caned me now," she said brokenly in full surrender.

"Excellent... then let us begin," he told her happily.

Tracy felt the thin wood scraping across her backside and she pulled the two cheeks together in a natural response... then the cane lifted away so that the next time she felt it was after it had swished through the air and landed with a fierce stroking line of pain on both cheeks of her bottom... she bucked but did not cry out... the sense of angry pain throbbed mercilessly across her buttocks and then the second stroke came down with equal vigour and intent... it hurt, Lord but it hurt and she was forced to clench and unclench her nates as they responded to the intruding pain waves that fiercely burned them... she was stoically receptive and did not actually cry out until the seventh hard stroke but that stroke striped her very low along the crease of her thighs where they joined the two wriggling moons of her bottom... it was a very tender spot and her voice shrieked out as the cane whipped down harshly across the lower cheeks...

"AAAGH... OW... OW... OW... PLEASE... AAAGHEEE" her shrill toned voice screamed. But the eight and ninth stroke came down and by now her bottom was thrusting about in a furious tempo of the macabre dance of the pain now building up on the cheeks of her arse. He kept her bending though and watched with a certain pleasure how the stripes across her bottom moved like waves as she swayed her hips through the air... her centre crease responded in movement too as she humped first one nate and then the other... all modesty was by now gone and only the awful searing lines of heated pain occupied her thoughts... her hands were white from where they gripped the far edge as though they had become glued to the desk itself... her breasts were flattened hard on the smooth desk top and she was whimpering as she felt the hot anger of the excruciating agony building up in both orbs... and then she was wincing yet again as she felt his fingers tracing over the very lines that had been made by the cruel cane... he even insisted that she thrust her bum all the way back so that there was nothing but the nadia of her shame to cope with... and all that he saw he made her aware that she was showing with his impersonal carresses... it was when he dipped his fingers to her exposed dampness that Tracy received a very distinct shock because she was so heated there and the thrill that shot through her body was like nothing she had ever experienced before... it was a strangely delicious quality thrill and despite her reluctance, she found herself fully thrusting her bottom right back to receive his finger tips stroking the full thrusting lips of her sex... she knew then that the sex act was the only thing that she would encounter and when he pushed into her body she only gasped and then choked out her strangely elated ecstasy... confusion and bewilderment gave way to the full thrills of sex and she did not care what he did after that... it was sweet and fully erotic... her mind capitulated fully and she accepted the fullest sensation of sex that she had ever known....

"Newman will be employed in my office for her term of imprisonment," he told the receptionist and she will be quartered in this block away from the guttersnipe rubbish of the other prisoners," and Tracy, now seated awkwardly in the armchair which she had been kneeling smiled at the look of surprise that crossed the receptionist's face... "Up your's" she thought and sighed contentedly.

Thursday, 22 April 2010


Story from Roue 01.


It took me a while to find her, of course. Girls like that don't simply fall out of heaven and into your clutches just because you've prayed for them. The failures came and went, gold diggers, tramps, nice girls going wrong. Bad girls pretending they were good, and ones pretending they were bad who never managed to stay the course. And none of them ever quite what I was looking for. Until LuLu.

I tried her out, more times than one, and she came up trumps every time. She was a natural. Naturally submissive, naturally charming, and naturally LuLu. At last all was ready. I could embark upon the task of educating her, my way.

She'd already begun to understand the rudiments of course. She'd learned, for instance, that 'slip your knickers down, there's a good girl,' didn't necessarily mean lying on her back with her legs spreadeagled. She'd got used to the idea that it might mean face down, on her tummy, with her bottom up in the air and waiting for a slapping.

She also knew about learning to shed her crocodile tears more or less on demand, having discovered very quickly that my idea of fun was spanking her so that she made a bit of a fuss. She'd learned that I didn't really want to hurt her, but that I liked to make her wriggle her bottom and squeal a little bit. In fact she'd got so good at it that she'd been rather overplaying it lately. Still, she was fun, and she amused my tiny mind well enough.

However, there was one little problem which I'd decided would have to be overcome, and the sooner the better. This concerned her rather spoil-sport point of view, which she had so far adhered to with dogged determination, that, while it was alright for me to play my little games with her, it wasn't alright for anyone else even to catch the merest glimpse of her knickers. This was, in a way, rather flattering I suppose. Nevertheless, it did tend to muck up my ideas about entertaining the odd friend now and then, by having LuLu across my knee with her pants down by way of an after-dinner diversion. Rupert had found it most embarrassing, in fact, especially when she'd called him a 'letcherous old sod'. I mean, the chap was a friend of mine, and he'd only pinched her bum, for Christ's sake. Well, needless to say, she got a good hard slippering for that, after he'd left, and for once her tears were real ones. All the same, Rupert had been disappointed, especially as I'd promised, and I couldn't afford to have it go on any longer. So I'd conceived this little plan, which I hoped might teach her a lesson once and for all. She didn't know exactly what I had in mind, but I'd warned her that this time she'd better be good, or she might get more than just a slippering when I got her home. She'd looked suitably impressed by that, though she still wasn't entirely convinced. Anyway, I'd just have to wait and see.

I knew the man in the shop would remember me. I'd bought LuLu a pair of navy school knickers a few days before, and given him a twenty pound note, knowing that at half-past nine on a Monday morning he probably couldn't change it. He'd offered to go up to his flat over the shop and see if he had enough up there, but I'd said not to worry, I'd pick it up next time I passed. So he'd remember me. As a middle-aged man who went around buying schoolgirl's knickers and saying they were for his niece. And as a man who wasn't too worried about the odd twenty quid, who'd trusted him to keep the change safely, and therefore a man, perhaps, of some substance.

As I say, LuLu hadn't been too enthusiastic about the plan, but she was always more susceptible to a reasoned argument when she was feeling a little tearful. A few dozen smacks up the backs of her legs that morning had helped in this respect. LuLu now thought the plan a reasonably agreeable one, though she didn't know all the details of course. She knew only that we were going to find a quiet little school-outfitters and buy her a uniform, and that from time to time she might have to wear it to amuse me, even though she was getting on for nineteen now. Not that she actually looked her age, mind you. Indeed, with her hair in bunches as it was now, and without make-up, she looked closer to sixteen. In fact she acted more like a sixteen-year-old too, which was one of the reasons why I was always having to put her across my knee, I suppose.

Anyway, I pointed out the outfitters to Lulu as we passed, and then we parked the car and walked round through the back streets to the shop. Its windows were small-paned and dusty, the woodwork needing a coat of paint. We went in and the bell tinkled, and the man who still had my twenty quid looked up and recognised me at once. He also caught sight of LuLu, and seemed a little surprised, as if he hadn't really believed I had a niece. He was right of course. I hadn't. Though this didn't stop me feeling a little hurt that he'd disbelieved me.

I let him see me pat LuLu's bottom, just the once, as I sent her off to look around the shop and keep herself out of the way. She looked delicious in her snug jeans and skimpy vest thing, and I have to admit to a small glow of pride as his eyes followed her for a moment. Round one to me. He fancied her.

He left the woman he was serving and came along his side of the old-fashioned glass-topped counter, saying he had my change 'all ready and waiting for you Sir'. I leaned conspiratorially towards him, and beckoned him closer. I told him my problem. Or at least, lied about my supposed problem in such a convincing way that he actually seemed to believe me. He made clucking noises here and there, and treated me to the odd understanding nod of the head in all the right places. Now and then his eyes wandered off and found LuLu, who was ambling sulkily around the shop looking every inch the petulant schoolgirl that I'd described her to be.

When I'd finished my tale, he blinked several times, and drew breath before he said anything.

'Well sir, if she's dead against the idea, as you say she is, I can see that there might well be a bit of a scene. Not quite what you'd want, sir, I do understand that.' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'For that matter neither would I, not in public if you see what I mean,' he added in a reasonable tone of voice. 'Anyway sir, perhaps we might come to some arrangement.' He momentarily acquired a far-away look, as if totting up the cost of a full school uniform, and remembering my twenty quid, and then, as if finding it worthwhile after all, the spark of inventiveness brightened his naturally doleful features. He glanced at his watch. 'Well, look sir, I'll be closing in an hour or so. Why don't you and the young lady come back then?' He seemed quite pleased with his solution. So was I. It saved me having to suggest it myself.

I looked pointedly at the woman who was serving the shop's only other customer.

'Er – we'll be quite on our own then sir,' he said. 'Miss Robbins will be leaving sharp at half-past five.'

'Well, if you're sure it'll be no trouble –?' I said.

'Not at all sir. No trouble whatsoever.'

His eye wandered again to Lulu's prettiness. 'Um – there is one thing though sir,' he added quietly.

I raised a politely enquiring eyebrow. LuLu came towards me along my side of the counter.

'Well sir – um, what if she decides she doesn't want to even try the stuff on – if you see what I mean? I mean, well, what then?'

LuLu was almost at my elbow, about to set off on another tour of the premises. As she passed I slapped her playfully on her pert bottom, and raised my eyebrow again at the shopkeeper. He stared for a moment at Lulu's plump behind, then began to nod sagely to himself, a knowing and even approving nod.

LuLu gasped at me, too startled to speak. I took her arm and steered her towards the door.

'I see sir,' murmured the shopkeeper.

I said: 'Shall we say about twenty to six then?'

'Yes sir,' he said, 'that'll be about right.'

I winked broadly at him as we left. He didn't smile, as I'd thought he might, but his little eyes were bright with interest, his head still nodding in agreement.

* * * *

We had a beefburger in an Italian place, then went back to where we'd left the Rolls.

The car park was slowly emptying as shoppers and office people made their way home. We sat in the car for a while, LuLu fiddling with her nails and an emery board. I contemplating the space between my belly and the steering wheel, and wondering idly whether Lulu's shapely hips would fit comfortably between the two. I could tell by her determined silence that she still didn't entirely approve of the arrangement I'd come to in the shop.

'Well then?' I said.

She looked up, startled. 'Well what?'

'Well, let's get on with it.'

She pretended ignorance, though she knew the plan well enough. 'Get on with what?' she persisted. She was just being difficult of course.

I swivelled in my seat and leaned my arm along the back rest. Her eyelashes fluttered. They always did that when she was nervous. 'You do remember why we're doing all this don't you?' I said.

'Oh, that!' she started to look sulky again. 'Look, do we have to. I mean, I've admitted I was wrong. I know I shouldn't have – well, made such a fuss, but couldn't we –'

'Fuss!' I raised my eyebrows theatrically. 'Fuss was hardly the word!'

Her pretty eyes glared defiantly at me for a moment, and she blurted it out before she could think about what she was saying. 'Well, bloody Hell!' she complained. 'I don't see why I should have to let bloody Rupert see me getting smacked! He's a perfect stranger to me! I don't want strangers seeing me with my knickers down like a little kid! It's bloody well bad enough having to get sodding smacked at all, without making an exhibition of myself too!'

She stopped. I could see at once that already she'd begun to regret it. Her eyelids fluttered again, desperately.

'LuLu,' I said in my most patient voice. It was a warning, a statement of my position. Her position as just LuLu, mine as the boss. I saw her pink lips begin to part. I sensed the excitement welling up inside her. She'd make a fuss, of course, she wouldn't give in too easily. But for her that was part of the thrill, the struggling against the inevitable, the humiliation of knowing that she was going to lose.

'What?' she said, petulently.

'LuLu. Be a good girl, and undo your jeans, eh?'

Her eyes clicked wide open. 'Why?' she demanded. She already knew why. I didn't trouble to answer. She made no move to do as I'd asked.

'Just do as I say, alright, LuLu?' I kept my eyes cool, on hers. She liked it like that; with a bit of authority.

She licked her lips, not altogether happy about it despite the excitement I knew she was feeling. She opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it. At last she fumbled with the waist-band and unpopped the fastener. The zip rasped open. At the base of her exposed belly the rouched waist-band of her brief yellow pants peeped out cheerfully. She lifted her bottom away from the seat and pushed the thick denim down off her hips. Her firm little pubic mound thrust invitingly upward inside the knickers as she levered herself higher and struggled to get the jeans part way down her thighs.

'That'll do,' I said. 'Now get across here.' I patted my lap impatiently.

She looked at me again, but I ignored the pleading in her eyes.

'What've I done?' she asked protestingly. She turned in her seat and leaned reluctantly towards me, and I hoisted her unceremoniously across my lap.

'Nothing. You know that. But this isn't a punishment, it's just a necessary part of the plot.'

I resisted the impulse to pull her knickers down off her bottom, partly from deference to the rather delicate circumstances and partly because it wasn't really important. They were very thin, and the sting would go right through them anyway. Not that the sting much mattered, for once. It was more a question of colouring.

I had to spank her with my left hand, which didn't make it any easier, and all the while to make sure the coast was still clear. But I managed nevertheless. About twenty or so good sharp spanks brought the rapidly welling crimson flushing hotly into her cheeks. I tugged one side of her knickers into the crease, baring one quivering buttock to make sure the bright colour was fairly well spread, then with a last vigorous slap, I let her up. She wriggled off my lap, sniffling childishly. She plopped back into her seat and dashed the few tears from her eyes, then had to roll over onto one hip as she pulled her knickers back out of the crease and rearranged them properly under her bottom. The roseate hue of her freshly spanked skin was bright against the contrast of the yellow nylon, and satisfactorily so. I knew from experience that LuLu's tender bottom would keep its rosy blush for up to an hour, which would be just about long enough.

'C'mon,' I urged, 'let's get going.' I was out of the car before she'd zipped her jeans, and I went round and opened her door.

We walked out of the car park, LuLu brushing nervously at her hair with her hand. We turned into the narrow street, and I put my hand around her hip and made sure for the last time that she knew what was expected of her.

'And above all, I want none of your virginal modesty. You're to do exactly as you're told. OK? This is one lesson you're going to learn properly, young lady.'

'OK.' She sounded anxious. So much the better.

* * * *

The shopkeeper was waiting for us, the shop empty. He saw us coming and unlocked the door.

I picked out a couple of skirts from those he showed me, one grey, pleated and probably too small, the other plain grey.

'These might be a little on the short side sir,' the shopkeeper said.

'Well, let's see, shall we? Do you have a changing cubicle?'

'Yes sir. Just down here.' He led the way to a curtained recess at the back of the shop. I handed the grey skirt to LuLu and the shopkeeper ushered her diffidently through the curtain and drew it across behind her.

In the ensuing quiet we could hear her jeans being unzipped and the coarse rustle as they slipped down her legs. I suggested softly that perhaps he wouldn't mind closing the old-fashioned window blinds which I'd noticed on the way in.

'Of course, sir. Privacy. Of course.'

By the time he got back LuLu had changed and had reappeared from behind the curtain. I took a chair and sat on it in the middle of the shop.

'Walk around a bit, eh?'

LuLu paced back and forth once or twice, casting worried glances in my direction each time she turned. She looked absolutely charming, and not a day over fifteen.

'How's that then sir?' prompted the shopkeeper.

I didn't answer straight away. Now I could begin to amuse myself.

'Give us a twirl, Lucille,' I said.

I kept my attention on our man. Lulu twirled, and his none-too-professional eye didn't blink as he watched the skirt billow out from her trim young legs. She stopped twirling. He looked at me at last.

'Don't you think it's a trifle long?' I remarked casually.

'Er, well –' he hesitated. 'Possibly sir,' he agreed eventually. 'Perhaps just a little.' Lucy glanced dubiously in my direction.

I got up from my chair. 'Have you got any pins?' I asked him.

'Pins, sir?' he dithered for a moment. 'Oh, you mean you'd like to see how it would look – um – a little shorter?'

'Yes. If you wouldn't mind.'

'No, that's alright.' He came back with the pins and half offered them to me.

'No, no. You're the expert. Perhaps you'd be so kind –?'

He looked quite pleased about that.

I beckoned LuLu over and indicated the chair. 'Hop up there will you?'

Up on the chair, her hips were on a level with the shopkeeper's eyes, more or less.

With his first pins, and keeping his hands conspicuously clear of Lulu's thighs, he took a tuck of an inch or so along the front.

I shook my head doubtfully.

'Too short sir?' he asked.

'Too long,' I said.

He took another inch, and the skirt started to look very tempting on my little LuLu. He stood back to get a better view, and discovered an inaccuracy in the pinning. He rectified it carefully, his hand brushing her thigh. He looked at me enquiringly.

I ran my eyes up the length of Lulu's legs, and tried to judge how high the skirt could actually go before the gusset of her knickers would be revealed. I reckoned it to be another six inches.

The shopkeeper's eyes darted between me and the delightful picture which LuLu was making up on her chair. The way the skirt was pinned, it was just conceivable that it might still be wearable. But only just. Beyond this point we wouldn't be able to keep up the pretence that she was actually going to wear it to school. The man's eyes, engrossed in Lulu's legs, were confirmation enough though. He'd play along with us.

I walked over to LuLu, took one of the man's pins from his box, and pushed it through the material a little more than six inches above the existing row of pins. On the counter I saw a pair of scissors. I handed them nonchalently to the owner of the shop.

'Snip it off about there,' I said. 'Please.'

Lulu's eyes caught mine. She bit her bottom lip nervously. The shopkeeper looked from me, to Lulu, and back to me. He found his voice eventually.

'It – it'd have to be paid for, sir.'

'Of course.' He still had my twenty quid.

'Well, if you're sure?'

'Quite sure.'

He had some trouble deciding where to start. He finally decided that a straight cut up the front, to the correct level, would be the best way. The scissors sheared keenly through the grey cloth, and I saw LuLu flinch as the cold steel touched the inside of her bare thigh. Her eyes widened as the scissors snipped fearfully close to her, then stopped. The lateral cut took some time. Even then it wasn't particularly straight when he'd finished.

He stepped back, but only a pace, and he never once took his eyes from LuLu. Her legs were bared for virtually their entire length. The pale yellow plumpness of the gusset was just visible between the very tops of her thighs, and there was a suggestion of delicate lace which edged the leg of her knickers.

'What d'you think?' I asked.

He did rather well, in the circumstances. 'Er – very – um – appealing, sir.'

I caught LuLu's eyes again. 'Turn round please,' I requested, politely.

We both watched her as she turned. She peered anxiously back at me over her shoulder. The brief yellow pants left the lower part of each cheek uncovered, the fullness pushing insolently out under the lace and creasing prettily in a line where her buttocks met her thighs. The little fold of nylon, tucked intimately into the division of her cheeky young bottom, added the finishing touch to a charming pose. The warm looking scarlet which blotched the naked parts of her bum was unmistakable. There would be no doubt that our shopkeeper friend had seen it.

It occurred to me however that perhaps LuLu, being unable to see the length of her skirt at the back, might still be under the impression that her bottom, reddened as it was from her spanking, might still be concealed from view. This wasn't the idea at all.

'Bend over, LuLu,' I said breezily.

The poor girl looked pleadingly back at me. Her panicky eyes spoke volumes, but nevertheless –

'Come on now. Touch your toes.'

Hesitantly, but obediently, she bent herself forward, and our friend watched enraptured as the truncated skirt slid teasingly up over the sheer knickers, LuLu's sweet little bum pulling the nylon tightly across each curve of her buttocks, the same plump bulge peeping out again from between the tops of her thighs. The marks of her spanking were plain to see.

'Er – will that be alright then sir?' he asked after a long and fascinated look.

'The skirt? Yes, fine thank you.'

LuLu peeped at me from between her legs, her eyes asking, very sweetly.

'OK,' I said to LuLu. 'Hop down.'

She hopped, and stood self-consciously beside her chair, her face flushed with embarrassment.

'Slip it off then.'

LuLu thanked me with her eyes. She made off towards the cubicle.

The shopkeeper had trouble looking at me. 'Er – anything else sir?' he asked, to cover the awkwardness.

'Knickers,' I said.

'Um – navy sir? Or white, airtex, cotton poplin –?'

'Navy please,' I said.

My ears caught the sound of denim again.

'Don't bother with your jeans,' I called. 'Just come out and try these on. Oh, and bring the skirt with you.'

She took her time about it. The shopkeeper's eyes hovered near the curtain constantly. At last she appeared, cautiously, the skirt held modestly in front of her.

'Wrap it up, would you,' I asked the shopman.

LuLu surrendered it dubiously, the man bumped into the counter as he took it from her, his attention rivetted by the fat bulge in the front of LuLu's knickers. She looked pleadingly at me, while trying to hide her pretty yellow pants behind protectively folded hands, and sliding a little behind me to avoid the man's eyes.

The shopkeeper picked up the navy knickers, still in their cellophane bag, and stood behind his counter as if wondering what to do with them.

'Go and get them, then,' I said quietly.

She hesitated. I had no doubt that she'd put two and two together and had formed a good idea of what was likely to happen next.

'Go on, LuLu!' I still kept my voice quiet.

She went doubtfully. Her sweet behind wobbled as she walked over to the counter, the bright splotches on each of her cheeks showed up beautifully next to the yellow. She reached out and took the knickers at armslength, then, more or less backing away from him, she headed towards the cubicle again.

'Er – don't bother to go in there, LuLu,' I said. 'I'm sure we won't mind, will we?' I raised an eyebrow at the shopkeeper.

He quite literally stuttered: 'Um – n-no. No, not at all.' His eyes widened perceptibly.

LuLu looked at me, desperation in her face. She started to shake her head slowly, as if she couldn't believe what was happening.

I waited. Gave her time to think about it. She seemed unable to bring herself to do it. I treated her to my stern, velvet voice. 'LuLu, I'm going to count up to three, and if those knickers aren't down to your ankles by the time I've finished –'

She seemed to tremble. Her lower lip quivered, but on her face there was the beginning of the pink flush, flooding up to just under her eyes, which I recognised as the surest sign there could be that she was starting to get excited.

I teased her by my silence, for a moment. Then: 'One!'

Her eyelashes fluttered nervously and she started backing slowly away.


The man behind the counter was enthralled. His feet shuffled in the quiet. LuLu stared at me, looking as if her knees were going to give way.


I crooked my finger. She knew just what it meant. Slowly, with leaden steps, she came to me.

Her belly felt warm against my legs. The little nylon knickers slid easily down her thighs and came to rest at her ankles, a bright, pathetic flag of surrender. I spanked her steadily, methodically, ignoring her protests and helpless struggles, feeling her come alive under my hand, shuddering with excitement despite herself.

When I'd finished with her, she was very subdued. The navy knickers looked very nice on her. Her little bum looked particularly sweet. We bought a few more things, the shopkeeper serving us in a daze.

I made her wear her new clothes home, although I bought another skirt because I could hardly have her walking around in the first one, with her new knickers on display. Although, thinking about it –.

Anyway, I took her home. When we got there I phoned Rupert. He said he'd be only too pleased to come to dinner. LuLu didn't say anything when I suggested she keep her uniform on to show Rupert, she only flushed obligingly. She seemed to have learned her first lesson.

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

In the stable

Story from Swish Vol.4 No.4.

In the stable

One minute Samantha was riding around the meadow – and the next she was being taken into the stable for something she had never had before. It was as quick as that – but that's life!

"Never keeps her back straight," Roger growled "and I've told her to time and time again. Spent a fortune so far on her riding lessons. I don't know what to do with her – totally undisciplined!"

His companion, Charles, said nothing for a moment. The girls, Samantha and Veronica, were riding side by side around the meadow – the horses going in slow easy strides. Watching their bottoms bouncing up and down on the saddles always made him appreciate the tightness of riding britches. Whenever they came to the small jump fences that were set up, and the girls separated to leap them, their bottoms would rise higher, giving an even more delectable view. A tingling in his loins made him clear his throat.

"You really want to know what to do, Roger?" he asked, "Come – I'll show you. Never fails to work." Turning on his heel and knocking his pipe out against the flat of his hand, he led his wondering and new business associate across the grass to the stable. It had been cleaned up recently and the walls whitewashed. At the further end, from the double doors – as Roger saw – was a single bale of straw positioned in a wide space between the stalls where the two horses were usually kept. Over the straw was a broad length of fine leather.

"Works? what works?" Roger asked rather stupidly. For a moment Charles did not reply but stepped ahead of him and to the side of the bale. Inclining his head speculatively for a moment he selected one of three implements that hung on the wooden wall of the nearest stall. There was a schooling whip, a crop, and a broad, thick leather strap without a buckle. He watched as Charles snicked this off its hook.

"This is the one I recommend, Roger," Charles said. "The crop and the schooling whip are primarily for display – as gentle warnings, shall we say. You could use them fairly lightly, of course, if she's allowed to keep her britches on – but never across the bare bottom. This," he went on proffering the strap, "is the real chap for it. It's supple and well-used. Veronica has taken it quite a few times now since she left university. I call it the Monitor – it monitors obedience, you see."

Smiling amiably he let the heavy strap fall on to Roger's palm. "I keep a couple in the house, too," he said, "often come in handy. The best method of quelling rebellions, doncherknow." Roger, he saw, was gaping. "B...but I say, look here, I couldn't possibly" he stuttered, but Charles seemed already to have turned to another thought. "And the leather apron over the bale – that stops the straw tickling 'em. One definitely doesn't want that sort of distraction. And of course it's the right material to use. Has the right scent. Knew a chap once who used sacking – really quite awful and common. Sacking also tickles their tummies – and other places, too, if you know what I mean. Not too hard first go. A good sixer square across her bottom. Britches and knicks down, of course. No nonsense, eh?"

"Ch...Charles, you're joking, surely?" Roger asked, though he couldn't help passing the thick strap curiously through his hands. It was supple all right, and very obviously used. "Joking? Not at all, dear chappie," Charles replied blandly. "Totally undisciplined and you don't know what to do with her? Well – here's your answer. Stables a good distance from the house. Sound doesn't carry that far. Discretion's the word, eh? She'll blubber and kick – kick out like a high strung filly, I'm sure but the first good sixer should quell her. After that, you keep it up – or rather she does," Charles added with a chuckle.

"Well – I say!" Roger gasped. He had heard of it – or rather distant rumours of it in the county – but the thought of personally applying what he had once heard called "Hot medicine" had never occurred to him before. The leather was warm to his touch already, and curled and coiled with oily ease in his hands. "Not too much of it – in terms of length, I mean," Charles was saying. "About twenty inches is enough. It keeps the slaps of the leather crisp and firm – and you can get it where you want. Too much of it and you lose control. Cook's had a taster of it – and the maids. Brenda, too even when she's got uppish. Gives her a bit of a thrill on the quiet, up in the bedroom same as it does 'em all when they get used to it. Like to be treated like reluctant mares, eh?"

"Wh....wh.....what?" Roger choked. At the beginning he hadn't believed this conversation. Now it was getting through to him even as the slightly sensuous feel of the strap was. He was used to straps and harness with horses, but never before with one for this purpose. "No hesitations, Roger, or you'll be saying the same thing next month. I'll get Veronica to lead her in, what?" he heard Charles say and then the big wooden doors opened and half closed again.

Brenda of all people, Roger thought! Lovely, voluptuous and mature, and with a bottom he had several times cast eyes on. Brenda with her sweet but sometimes slightly uppish ways. He tried to imagine her baring and yielding her plump, fleshy bottom to Charles in their bedroom – for the strap, that is. The vision was quite dizzying. And then Veronica....... But even as he held the strap and stared at the doors through which Charles had passed, it was Veronica who entered, bringing with her a very surprised looking Samantha whose wrist she held tightly.

"Veronica, don't! What on earth are you doing?" Samantha screeched and then stopped and gaped, her feet dragging on the straw-floor as she saw they weren't alone. Simultaneously, with a thud that made her jump, the double doors to the stable shut tight and the securing plank very audibly fell across them, throwing the interior of the stable into gloom.

"NO-OOOOH!" Samantha shrieked immediately. At first her eyes hadn't focussed on the strap that was being held so menacingly, but now that they did she made to run blindly and found herself being chased. The stable was over twenty-five feet by eighteen and Samantha's slim body squirmed and twisted, as she sought to evade the outstretched hands that reached for her with ever-growing excitement now. Dammit, it wasn't going to be as bad as she was trying to make out, Roger thought, and she was kicking up a hell of a din.

When at last he succeeded in grabbing her he managed to get an arm around the top of her body, under her armpits. Howling, Samantha felt herself being dragged to the waiting bale, her heels scraping. "V....V....Veronica... stop him!" she howled, but it was Veronica who stepped quickly around to the other side of the bale. Seizing Samantha's flailing arms and running her hands swiftly down them, she gripped the girl's wrists and drew her over the leather apron. Her arms thus stretched out before her, Samantha could only kick wildly.

"Her britches – quickly!" Veronica hissed, "and then her panties. Get them right down!" Some what in a daze, but flushed already, Roger avoided the wild jerkings of Samantha's legs and, pressing his knee against the back of one of her thighs to still it, began some quick unbuttoning to even more outraged shrieks from Samantha. "NO! You can't LET him!" she yelled, her head twisting wildly, while Veronica leaned back slightly, so that her friend was stretched between them. It had to happen to Samantha sometime, she thought – nearly twenty now and never been stropped.

Not quite believing that he was doing it, Roger had the britches down Samantha's slender legs by now, draped over her riding boots. Beneath, barely covering her luscious tight bottom, were a pair of lavender panties of the finest nylon through which her pert cheeks gleamed. Even through the gauzy material the deep divide looked delicious, and even more so when with a sharp intake of breath and the most horrified screech from Samantha, he unveiled her nether cheeks completely.

"D....d.......DARE! You DARE!" Samantha sobbed. Her face was twisted sideways on the leather and she could barely raise it to see Veronica who was pulling on her arms. "You'll get a dozen, Samantha, you WILL – if you don't stay still!" Veronica threatened. Wow, she really looked delicious – such lovely gleaming globes. Riding did the best things for one's bottom, Veronica often thought, and now Samantha at last was going to get the bonus benfit of it, if only she knew.

But right then Samantha didn't. She only knew that what was happening was utterly impossible. She had never even been spanked before! "Quick! don't WAIT!" Veronica gasped as Roger seemed to overdo the dazed contemplation for a moment. Then, as in a dream himself, he raised the strap and brought it with a loud SLAP-CRAAAAAAACK full across that wondrous, glossy globe.

"OH-OOOOOH!" Samantha yelped. "NO! Oh NO!" but that first searing sound did wonders for Roger, if only she had known. He had used just twenty inches of the leather, as Charles had told him to, and both the noise and the effect was electric. Only the fact that Veronica was holding her so tightly prevented Samantha from wriggling back on to the floor as the caressing flames coursed through her, making the breath jolt from her body.

"ST.....ST......ST.....STOP!" she yammered, "oh Veronica, stop him – he can't. He mustn't!"

"YEE-AAAARGH!" Her throaty cry wavered and rose as another splatting stroke whistled across her delicious derriere, making its cheeks tighten in a way that brought an equally deep tingling to Roger's prick. It was incredible that he could be doing this, but Veronica was holding her and he had begun now, so what the hell. All the times she had disobeyed him or refused to listen to him and now..........CRA......AAAACK!

"WHA-HAAAAR!" came another shriek while Veronica licked lips at the spectacle. Samantha's pale fawn blouse had ridden up in her squirmings and twistings and the lower halves of her tits were showing, the creamy gourds rubbing on the leather. Veronica knew exactly the sensations that this would give Samantha, much as she might at first resist them. In another few seconds the rucked-up material would expose her nipples to Roger's gaze, and the urging contact of the smooth leather would excite them, bringing them to sharp points that would make the heat in her botty feel even more swirly.

"GA-AAAH!" Samantha choked and sobbed now, her bared knees bent into the front of the bale, imprisoned as her calves and ankles were in the looped-down britches and her dropped panties. Conscious of the smooth rubbing of the leather beneath her, which had grown warmer both to her bared tummy and the cluster of blonde curls around her mound, the searing fire of the strap seemed to take on a new dimension. It stung, smarted and made her bottom leap and her hips jive. And Veronica was watching both the pale flashing of Samantha's nubile nudity and the now threatening erection that was making such a huge bulge in Roger's slacks.

Every squirming jerk that Samantha made under his strokes revealed more of her intimate sweetness to him, the lips of her slit moistly pursed together when her bottom lifted in reflex to a stinging stroke. What he was doing to her under the strap was to make her offer and submit, he realised. And he had lost count in the excitement – in the revelations of her naked wrigglings – but it didn't matter. No way had he really hurt her and yet he had stung her into submission at least, for her outraged shrieks had given way now to mewing and whimpering sobs and her bottom was rotating rather than throwing itself about madly as the thick leather coursed and slapped now beneath her adorable, fiery-red bottom.

Then, as it seemed, Roger's eyes met Veronica's for the first time, and she nodded. Loosing Samantha's wrists which flopped loosely on the leather apron, Veronica stepped swiftly around the bale. Samantha would not get up for a long moment now. Veronica knew the signs, and, just as she had predicted to herself, those sweet pinky-brown nipples were both visible and erect, their pointed cones tingling in the aftermath of deep-surging heat that would gradually replaced the fiery stings.

"She's O.K." Veronica whispered huskily so that Samantha could not hear – though racked as she was by bubbling sobs no outside sounds really reached her. "You ought to kiss her now – kiss and forgive we call it – like this." Aware of his erection, Roger groaned as Veronica's arm looped around his neck, drawing his mouth down to hers. Moving her body sensuously so that her tits bulbed into his shirtfront and her tummy could feel the throbbing of his rod, Veronica parted her lips slightly and brought them under his. It was the first strapping she had really seen – apart from a few furtive peeps through the door in the house and glimpses of herself in a mirror – and her body was as alive with excitement as was Roger's cock. It jerked even more now as her moist tongue insinuated itself like a warm snake into his mouth and for one of the most thrilling moment in his life, her hand slipped as if by accident between their bodies. Feeling quickly but lightly down the outline of the stem of his cock, Veronica twirled her tongue luringly and then – as if shyly – hid her face in his shoulder.

Roger gulped. Over her shoulder he could see the urgent little movements of Samantha's naked bottom. Her legs had slipped wider apart and the peeping of her lovenest made his heart thump all the more madly. Aroused beyond thought, he drew Veronica in more tightly to him and palmed her bottom with his hand through the ribbed cord of her britches. A small humming sound came from Veronica's throat. She felt the tip of his forefinger run up the line of her britches where they covered her groove too tightly for any real exploration. To take the strap now would be fantastic, she thought blearily, and tightened her arm invitingly around his neck just as a clatter came at the doors and the holding plank was removed.

Leaping back from Roger's embrace, Veronica just managed to get a squirming Samantha's panties up before the doors opened. And scarcely more than thirty seconds later, scooped up in Charles arms, a dazed Samantha was being carried back across the grass to the house, her britches drawn up only to her thighs. Too dazed and astonished to resist, and burningly under the spell of what she was feeling in and around her bottom and pussy, Samantha hung limp, her eyes closed.

She could hear no other voices at least – not around the meadow or in the house, but she was showing almost everything in the front through the moist vee of her knickers and, taken swiftly up the broad stairs of the mansion, she began to sob. Charles lifted her higher, cradling her slender nubile form to him. Brenda was out and Veronica had been told to stable the horses. Nudging open the door of the main bedroom he deposited a dazed Samantha on the big double bed face down, his big palm across her thinly-veiled bottom.

"I.....didn't" Samantha sobbed into a large white pillow once again. She gave a short, sharp cry as his strong hands swiftly bared her bottom once more, wreathing the thin band of her panties around the tops of her thighs. "Still now," Charles said quietly and bent and kissed the nape of her neck, sweeping her long hair aside. "Lie quiet for a moment." Samantha smothered a rising "OOOOOOOH!" as his fingers quested intimately down between her thighs and then gave her hot bottom a quick, warning smack.

"There now – there," Charles murmured gently. "It was only your first. There'll be more to come. Kiss and forgive now." Despite her slenderness, her limp body rolled heavilly as she endeavoured to resist his turning her over on to her back. Gurgling with disbelief at everything that was happening, Samantha made a desperate little movement to reach down for her panties, but felt her hand smacked away. "No Samantha," Charles said firmly, "do you want another smack?" Samantha's lips quivered, her eyes misted with tears. She felt his hand caress her thigh and soothe the warm, silky inner surface, making her quiver. "" she quavered.

"Always kiss and forgive," Charles husked throatily. Her mouth was a perfect peach, the upper lip rolling wetly back under the pressure of his mouth. "B..........b..........b", Samantha bubbled as a fingertip explored the pursed lips of her slit and circled upwards to find the rosebud of her clit. She bucked, jerking her bottom, clinging of a sudden to his neck as tiny rockets seemed to rise and explode in her tummy. "WHOOOOOOOOO!" Samantha quivered. Her legs spread, straightened and then went limp, her arms sliding down from the tight clutch with which she had seized him.

"We'll see if you can stay the week," Charles breathed. Samantha's eyelashes fluttered, but her eyes remained closed. She wanted to hide in the darkness forever with this beautiful, mad, stinging hot feeling. Her lips remained unmoving, her hands fluttering feebly on the bedspread as Charles unfastened the buttons of her blouse and unveiled the creamy orbs of her tits whose nipples pointedly up so wickedly. Ready for a ride, he thought – but not yet. Better let her swim in her feelings for the moment. Another strapping and she could be mounted. Delicately he touched the puffy lips of her slit and felt her quiver. Tomorrow a new world would open up for Samantha. If Roger had got the message that is – and he felt sure he had.....