Story from Privilege Plus 14.
by Lia Anderssen
THE AIR WAS NOT COLD, but still Lisa shivered. It might have been a shiver of fear, or one of anticipation, she wasn't sure, but as she stood in the middle of the bare, white room, it was as if an icy shroud was enveloping her.
How long had she been here? An hour? Two hours? It was impossible to judge. Here, in this empty, anonymous place, there was no sense of time, simply of expectancy, the knowledge that something was going to happen. Something at once terrible and exciting. Something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she contemplated her situation.
The mirrors didn't help. There were two, one in front of her, one behind, so that she could see every inch of herself. She had tried to avoid looking into them, but standing as she was in the centre of the floor, she had little choice and, with nothing else to occupy her, she found herself eyeing her body critically.
There was no doubt that the twenty-year-old girl was a beautiful sight, with her plump, firm breasts and slim waist, her long, tapering legs made to look even more shapely by the tall high heels she wore.
Her clothing, or lack of it, simply served to underline her beauty. She had on only the briefest of underwear. Her bra was cut low, so that the two half-moons of her areolae showed above its lacy fringe, drawing attention to the swell of her breasts and the deep cleavage between. Her panties too were scarcely able to preserve her modesty, the transparent panel in the front quite inadequate to cover her dark pubic bush, the rear not much more than a cord that ran up the crack of her lovely, pert behind.
She found her eyes lingering on the image of her bottom reflected from the mirror behind her. It had an exquisite shape, the round globes firm, the skin pale and tight. As she stared at it, she recalled the way Doug had taken his leave of her, his strong hand stroking her there. What was it he had said?
"This will benefit from some stripes across it."
Could he possibly have meant what she thought he meant? No, surely not. It was true that he had threatened her with a thrashing often enough, especially when he caught her chatting up other men. He had even told her of a place of correction where recalcitrant wives could be taken to stem their wayward tendencies, but she had always assumed he was joking.
Now, though, she wasn't so sure.
She shifted restlessly. Her stance was, to say the least, uncomfortable. She was standing just as he had told her to, with her legs spread apart and her hands placed behind her head. Her arms and legs ached from their prolonged immobility. Dare she relax for a moment, maybe lean against the wall?
As if in reply, there came an almost inaudible whirr from above her, and she glanced up to see that the light on top of the small surveillance camera was on, indicating that someone was watching her. A tremor shook her lovely young body as she thought of a stranger's eyes upon her. If she were to relax her stance now, they would know at once. Best to stay where she was, she concluded. After all, Doug had warned her against disobedience with these people.
These people! She knew there were people here, yet she had seen nobody since her arrival. What was this place, and who worked here? More to the point, how was it that they could exercise such power over her? Once again a shiver ran through her as she contemplated her situation, abandoned here in this strange room by her husband, and ordered to obey.
She wished now that she'd paid more heed when he had remonstrated with her, and had curbed her flirtatious ways. Lisa had always had a propensity towards chatting up men, one which she had successfully suppressed during the first year of her marriage to Doug. But recently she had begun to slip back into her old ways, happily accepting the attentions of any male she found attractive. She would play little games with them, swapping double entendres and allowing them to place their arms about her, whispering in their ears and giggling. She knew that this behaviour annoyed her husband, but she simply laughed off his complaints, accusing him of being unnecessarily jealous.
The last straw had come at the party the night before. Doug had found her in a dark bedroom necking with a young man, half the buttons of her blouse undone. He had made no comment at the time, simply ordering her to get her coat, then driving her home. He had been silent in the car, and she had sensed she had gone too far. On arriving he had gone straight to the telephone and had made a call. Then he had come up to their bedroom.
"You're going away," he had said.
"Where? What do you mean?"
"Don't ask any questions. What you did tonight was just too much. I'm sending you somewhere where you'll be shown the error of your ways."
"I don't understand."
"You're going to a place where you will be taught to act as a wife should. You'll be there for a week."
"What if I don't want to go?"
"You don't get a choice. Be ready tomorrow night. Wear your silk underwear."
With that he had gone out of the room, leaving her to ponder his words.
That evening he had returned home early, much to her surprise. She had been feeling contrite, and had intended to cook him his favourite meal then take him to bed. She had managed to convince herself that the exchange the previous night had been simply to scare her, and that things would soon return to normal. It was a shock, therefore, when he ordered her straight up to the bedroom and stood over her whilst she donned the scanty underwear.
"Right," he said. "Get in the car."
"I can't go like this," she complained, shocked at the very suggestion.
"You can and will, now get a move on."
"Right now, Lisa."
Lisa stared at him. She had never seen him so forceful. Normally he was a placid, forgiving man, but tonight his commands brooked no disobedience. A sudden, unexpected thrill of excitement ran through her as she looked into his eyes.
At the front door she had paused, glancing at herself in the hall mirror. She couldn't believe he was making her go out so scantily dressed, and at any moment she expected him to call her back and admit that the whole thing was a joke. But he remained grim-faced as he pushed open the door and indicated she was to go out.
She had scuttled to the car, climbing in at once and shutting herself in. Doug had followed more slowly. As he sat down he had reached under the dashboard and pulled out a black, velvet cloth.
"Put this on. Over your eyes."
"What is it?"
"A blindfold. Put it on, now."
With shaking hands, Lisa had pulled the band of cloth over her head, and had been immediately plunged into darkness. Then she heard Doug slip the car into gear, and they were off.
All that had been some hours earlier. She had no idea where she had been taken, but the drive had seemed to go on for ages. Eventually, though, the car had drawn to a halt and Doug had climbed out. Then she had found herself being taken from her seat and led across a gravel driveway into a building. Only after the door had clanged shut behind her had he removed her blindfold. And now she was here, in this bare, anonymous room, waiting fearfully to discover her fate.
All at once she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She stiffened, holding her body erect and thrusting her breasts forward, just as Doug had told her to do. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. A man stood there, tall and dark-haired, a grim expression on his face. He was in his late forties, his hair flecked with grey. He wore a sort of uniform, consisting of black trousers and a black sweatshirt. He took in Lisa's barely-clad form in a single glance, and the hapless young girl felt the blood rush to her face as she contemplated the sight she must make.
"They're ready for you," he said.
"Be quiet. You are not permitted to speak unless spoken to. Follow me, and keep your hands where they are."
It seemed she had no choice. Her heart thumping, Lisa followed the man out of the room and down a long, featureless corridor, her high heels sounding unnaturally loud on the bare floor-boards. He unlocked another door and led her through. She found herself in a large entrance hall, on the far side of which was a desk. The man behind it wore the same black uniform as her guard. He looked up as they approached.
"One for registration," said the first man.
"Give me your clothes."
"But I've only got these..."
"Do as you're told!" barked her escort.
Lisa stared at the two men, barely able to believe what they were asking of her. No man but Doug had ever seen her naked, and the idea of stripping off here brought a tight knot to her stomach. Surely they couldn't be serious? But one look at their faces told her they were.
"Get your clothes off. Hurry up!"
Slowly, her hands shaking, she reached behind herself, fumbling with the catch on her bra. When she had unfastened it, she slid her arms out of the straps and stood, hugging the cups to her chest.
"Give it to me."
Slowly, reluctantly, Lisa let the bra fall away from her breasts, revealing their pink firmness to the two men. She blushed hotly as they took in her dark brown nipples, set high on the orbs of her breasts, the teats standing out deliriously.
Lisa let her hands drop to her waistband. She stared imploringly at the men.
"Couldn't I just keep them on?" she begged.
"Hurry up, or it'll be the worse for you."
Lisa gave a despairing sigh. Then she hooked her thumbs in the elastic and dragged her pants down in a single movement, stepping out of them and quickly hugging her hands to her private parts.
"Put them on the desk. Then spread your legs and put your hands behind your head."
Once again his tone was such that she dare not disobey. Lisa hesitated for a second before reaching out her trembling hand and placing the skimpy garment on the desk. Then, her cheeks glowing, she moved her legs apart and put her hands behind her head. On the wall behind the desk was another mirror, clearly placed there for her own benefit, and she stared at her reflection, taking in the firm swell of her bare breasts, the darkness of her nipples contrasting sharply with the creaminess of her young flesh. Her eyes drifted lower, to her flat belly with its neat little navel, and down to the dark triangle of her pubic curls, beneath which the cleft of her vagina was clearly visible.
The man at the desk sat back, his eyes taking in every inch of the embarrassed youngster standing before him, her charms on open display.
"She'll do," he said at last. "Take her through."
"Take me where? I can't go anywhere in this state. I'm completely nude!"
The first man crossed to another door, which he opened and gestured to Lisa to go through. The naked girl stepped past him hesitantly, and found herself in another corridor.
The sound of her heels seemed louder than ever as she made her way along behind her escort. The corridor was as white and impersonal as the rest of the building, with strip lighting in the ceiling. On either side were numbered doors, each one firmly shut.
They rounded a bend and Lisa saw ahead of her a group of men. They were plumbers, working on a radiator that stood against the wall. At once the young beauty's footsteps faltered as their eyes fell on her.
"Move on!" barked her escort.
"But there are..."
Whack! He brought a hand down hard across the cheeks of her buttocks, making her cry out with the sudden pain.
"Move on, I said."
Lisa's pretty young face glowed scarlet as she passed the men and saw them nudging one another and grinning at her. How could Doug possibly have sent her to such a place? It was incredible that he should allow her to be exhibited in such a shameless manner to total strangers. Yet he must be aware of what was happening to her.
Ahead of her was another door, outside which stood a man in the same kind of uniform as the one who accompanied her.
Lisa came to a halt in front of him.
"New arrival, Mr Peters," said her escort.
"Cell twenty-seven," replied the other. "Want to take her now?"
"No. First her backside needs a little decoration."
The man grinned. "First time?"
"Better bring her in, then."
Lisa listened to the conversation in silence. A cell? This place was some kind of prison then. But what could he have meant by decorating her backside?
The man called Mr Peters opened the door and Lisa entered. It was a bare, high-ceilinged room, the only furnishing a series of wooden cabinets about the walls. In the centre was what looked like an athlete's hurdle, and it was to this that she was led whilst her escort went to one of the cabinets and opened it.
"Stand there," said the man.
Lisa stopped before the bar. Mr Peters undid two screws and adjusted the height of the cross-beam until it was level with her pubis.
"Bend over the bar, hands flat on the floor."
Lisa stared at him for a second, unsure whether she had heard him correctly.
"Bend over, I said."
Slowly she bent forward at the waist, leaning all the way over until her hands were on the floor.
"Open your legs."
Lisa obeyed, only too aware of how the stance must look, the skin on her backside pulled taut, her anus and sex blatantly displayed.
The man ran his hand over her backside and she shivered at the sensation of his fingers on her bare flesh. There was something undeniabiy erotic about the way he was touching her, something that kindled a quite unexpected excitement deep inside her.
Then she saw the cane.
Her escort must have taken it from one of the cabinets. It was long, no thicker than a pencil, and her stomach seemed to sink as he flexed it in his hands.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," replied Mr Peters, standing back.
"A dozen strokes to start with, I think."
He stood back and tapped Lisa's behind with the cane, making her flinch slightly as he did so. He drew back his arm.
As she heard the swish of the first stroke descending, Lisa realised, too late, what he had meant by decorating her behind.
Then the first blow struck, and the pain began.