Production Line

Story from Sapphire 27.

Production Line
by Teresa Joseph

It had been the worst act of civil disobedience in this private girl's school's one-hundred-year history. Outraged at the reintroduction of school uniform for 'A' level students, every one of the school's 60 upper-sixthform students had walked out of lessons in protest, staging a sit-in in the common room and refusing to attend classes again until the policy was scrapped.

Needless to say, when word of this 'strike' had finally reached her, the Headmistress had been absolutely furious. Alter all, whilst she might have been young and attractive, only twenty-seven years old, the school council hadn't hired her because she would be able to 'relate' to the pupils. And so as the wave of sedition spread first to the lower-sixthform and then to the rest of the school, she sought to break it by any means necessary.

At first, whenever a ringleader had marched into her office to reiterate the girls' demands, Ms Dexter had pulled the impudent bitch over her knee, spanked her bare bottom purple and men sent her back to the common room wailing like a baby. But whilst she had hoped to intimidate the strikers, this blatant coercion merely strengthened their resolve, meaning that in the end, Ms Dexter was forced to hammer out a deal with the girls, giving them the freedom to leave the grounds during school hours in exchange for accepting the uniforms.

It appeared as if the sixth formers had won. But at the end of the day of course, it had all been a manipulative ploy; a means by which to get the girls back into the classroom so that Ms Dexter could punish them for their audacity, make an example of them and ensure that no other year would ever follow their example. If the girls had thought that they could bully the Headmistress into bending to their petty demands, they would all soon realise that they were sorely, sorely mistaken.

Nevertheless, despite having to wear their new school uniforms, the upper sixthformers were all quite cheery as they filed into the main hall for their weekly assembly. But when they noticed that a dozen female teachers were stood waiting for them wielding paddles, straps and canes, the penny finally dropped.

There was a stampede back towards the double doors, but since Miss Wilcox had already locked them the girls' only option was to stand quietly and listen to Ms Dexter's ultimatum.

"I will not accept such seditious behaviour in my school!" she barked, marching back and forth before the crowd of cowering teenagers. "An example must be made, so now you have two choices. Either stay here and accept proper punishment for your actions, or file out to the school office and sign the expulsion papers that have been prepared for you."

A deathly silence fell across the room as the girls all considered their actions. None of them wanted to take a hiding, but the idea of confessing to their parents that they'd been expelled was ten times worse. And so very reluctantly, they all agreed to stay and take their medicine.

"Very good," smiled the headmistress, happy to see that she was back in charge where she belonged. "Now divide yourselves up into two equal groups and line up single file behind Mrs Dunston and Mrs Archibald with your hands behind your head, quickly and quietly if you please." Having long since accepted what was in store, the girls obeyed without incident. And so lining up like lambs to the slaughter, the girls waited for each of the teachers to fetch a chair from the side of the room, sit down, make themselves comfortable and beckon forward the first girl in line.

Of course, as the first in line, Lucy and Carol were the first ones to have the hems of their skirts tucked up into their waistbands ready to have their thighs smacked into another incarnation. But although many of the other girls were glad that it wasn't them, they both consoled themselves with the fact that their punishment would be over with first. And biting their lips as they gripped their fingers together behind their heads, they both braced themselves for the first eye-watering smack.

"What's the matter baby?" teased Mrs Dunston, patronising the whining class sissy as she reddened first her left leg, then her right. "Is it hurting you?"

Mrs Dunston may have looked like Mary Poppins, but in truth she was more sadistic than most of the other teachers combined. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more amusing then seeing a weeping schoolgirl begging for mercy as she wriggled like a worm on a hook.

Lucy nodded; whimpering pitifully as she skipped from one foot to the other, in too much pain to stand still and to terrified to run away. And barely able to keep herself from giggling, the teacher simply had to pick up the pace.

"Do you want me finish?" she chuckled. "Well maybe we should get it over with a little more quickly then shouldn't we."

In any other circumstances, Carol would also have been laughing herself to death listening to Lucy beg for mercy. But now of course, after years of bullying the class wimp, she was far too busy fighting back her own tears to pick on the petite little blonde.

Mrs Archibald might not have been as severe as the Headmistress or as sadistic as Mrs Dunston, but she was far less subtle, and no matter how tough Carol might have thought she was, this teacher was tougher.

She tried to appear resolute, fighting in vein to look cool in front of her friends who were standing in line, but as Mrs Archibald smacked her, the poor girl couldn't help but weep and beg for mercy as the teacher darkened her deep olive skin even more.

"Turn around," she snapped, unwilling to put up with the girl's childish snivelling any longer. After all, both she and Mrs Dunston had another 29 miscreants to deal with and she didn't have time for games.

As regular as clockwork, both teachers' then began tanning the backs of each girl's thighs as tears streamed down their faces. But then without any warning, less than a minute later, the girls were both shoved down the line towards Miss White and Miss Finchley as Samantha and Janet were both called forward. Before they could even yelp, Miss White and Miss Finchley had pulled Lucy and Carol's knickers down and pulled them across their knee, ready to spank their bottoms red raw. And as they listened to their classmates yelping behind them as their thighs were beaten rosy, Carol and Lucy braced themselves for the worst.

One after the other and two by two, the girls made their way along the production line, weeping more with every stroke. If they'd thought that the smacking was painful, Carol and Lucy quickly realised just how naive they really were as the teachers tanned their rumps. Lucy yelped as much as ever as Miss Finchley spanked one cheek after the other, cupping her hand to ensure as much pain as possible on the girl's part and as little as possible on her own.

Despite being laid across the women's knees, both girls were still ordered to keep their hands on their heads. And although their position made this difficult enough to begin with, it became almost impossible to do so as the teacher's stung their cheeks.

Were they whipping them both with stinging nettles? The girls couldn't turn their heads back far enough to tell. Their checks were burning hot. With every stroke the teacher's seemed to plants a seed of pain that blossomed in a fraction of a second, covering their cheeks with pins and needles as painful as hornet stings and forcing them to shriek like scolded cats. After the twentieth stroke, neither Lucy could hold on any more. Tears were pouring down their faces like Niagara Falls, and no matter how afraid they were of the Headmistress, they simply had to fight back.

Almost on queue, the girls both began bucking like donkeys much to the disgust of both the teachers and their Headmistress. Miss White and Miss Finchley tried everything to shut the girls up from arm twisting to a full force spanking. But with a single stroke of her riding crop across their checks as she marched up to each one of them in turn, Ms Dexter quickly reasserted the teachers' authority and put Lucy and Carol back in their place.

The single lash they received was so harsh that it might as well have come from a bullwhip, and left such an agonising purple welt that from that moment on, the girls bit their tongues, crossed their ankles and took their spankings without question. But of course, there were still four steps left to go.

Hearing the lash and the leather and the howls of pain of the girls who went before them, Sam and Janet took their spankings as quietly as could be expected. But although another beating from Ms Dexter was the last thing that they wanted, Carol and Lucy could not help but howl and weep as Mrs Kelly and Mrs Lee paddled their bottoms purple. Gritting their teeth as they bent over and grabbed hold of their ankles, the girls tried their best to fight the urge to run away as the teachers' stood beside them brandishing their oval leather paddles, laying stroke after stroke full square across their bare defenceless cheeks. But each time the leather struck them, it became more and more difficult to resist.

"I'm Sorry!" howled Carol, jumping like an electrocuted kangaroo and then running for her life. "I'm Sorry! Please Stop!" But her punishment was not yet over.

"Do you want to be expelled?" demanded Ms Dexter, grabbing Carol by the wrist and bringing her to heel.

Carol shook her head violently, spattering her Headmistress with tears.

"Well then get back over there! And then when you've finished, you can just rejoin the back of the queue and go through it all again."

Whacked across the thighs with Ms Dexter's crop for a second time, Carol did what she was told without question, ensuring that she wouldn't agitate Ms Dexter any further, but also destroying any dignity that she might have had left. And touching her toes once again in front of Mrs Kelly, Carol wept and pleaded, but she didn't move an inch.

Lucy would have run long before Carol if she hadn't been so afraid. And biting their lips as Miss White and Miss Finchley spanked their bottoms red raw, Sam and Janet could hardly conceive of the paddling that was in store for them. After all, the girls were in enough pain as it was.

As one of the girls who had organised the strike in the first place, Janet had received more than a dozen spankings from Ms Dexter in her attempts to get them to follow her instructions. But with Miss White whacking each cheek in turn and setting her rosy young bottom ablaze, all of that was a distant memory, and Janet was weeping just as hard as ever. Fifty strokes later, each pair moved up to the next teacher in line. And if Lucy had been too scared to run away from the paddle, the tawse soon had her jumping halfway to the moon.

"Hold still!" snapped Mrs James, twisting the wriggling girl's arms up behind her back as she fought to keep her across her knee. Miss Simmons was also having problems keeping Carol across her knee as well. But after a while, after a dozen or more vicious strokes of infernal, split-tongued leather across their burning purple cheeks, both girls were forced to submit and take their medicine.

In fact, when the time came for them both to step forward and take the martinet, they all but ran up to Mrs Jennings and Miss Falkirk and leapt across their laps, hoping against hope that blind obedience and submission might buy them a little compassion.

As it was though, no matter how much the teachers might have taken pity on them, the martinet showed no mercy. Even the gentlest of strokes across their swollen purple cheeks was enough to sting them into tears of excruciating pain.

"Stop crying you baby!" snapped Miss Falkirk, sick to death of Carol's incessant whimpering. "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Carol didn't listen, but if she hadn't been crying so bitterly then she might even have laughed at the irony. It was bad enough that the teacher had used such an obvious cliché, but to suggest that she wasn't in pain already... that was just far too hilarious to bear.

Lucy meanwhile was being given more than enough to cry about. After all, Mrs Jennings might not have been very skilled, but she wasn't very subtle either. On this production line, compassion and sympathy were in short supply. None of the teacher's even seemed to acknowledge the fact that the girl that they were punishing had already received a vicious beating from each one of their colleagues before them. None of the teachers were prepared to put up with any rubbish from their students, and so when Julia took her knickers off prematurely, Mrs Archibald decided to give her a spanking as well.

"Do you need to take your knickers off to have your thighs smacked?" barked the teacher as she dragged the tearful girl down across her knee and laid the flat of her hand into her firm young checks.

"No Miss!"

"You only take them off to take a spanking don't you!"

"Yes Miss! Please Miss, I'm Sorry!"

At first, Ms Dexter hadn't been sure about this. Alter all, it held up the line and delayed the punishment of a number of girls who were far more deserving. But watching Julia howl and struggle as Mrs Archibald did what she did best, the Headmistress soon came around.

After five dozen strokes of the martinet, Carol and Lucy's flaming bottoms were absolutely covered with flaming purple welts; a reminder of the bitter, eye-watering kisses that each stroke had left behind as the sharp leather bit into their cheeks. But now with only Miss Kennedy and Mrs Williams and their 3' bamboo canes standing between them and the end of their torment, they both knew that soon they would have much more than that.

Rubbing their bottoms as hard as they could without increasing the pain and with tears still streaming down their red and swollen faces, the girls reluctantly edged forward towards the impatient teachers, dreading what was to come. At long last, with Janet and Samantha already howling with agony as the martinets inscribed their signatures across their swollen purple rumps, Lucy and Carol finally bent over to touch their toes, clenched their teeth and shut their eyes as tightly as possible, hesitantly awaiting the first brutal stroke.

In the fraction of the second that it took for Miss Kennedy to lay the cane down full square across her helpless cheeks, Carol heard it as it cut through the air behind her and instinctively tried to pull away. But by then it was too late. And with a deafening crack, eight inches of bamboo cut deep into her derriere and sent her running from one end of the hall to the other and howling like a wounded wolf.

She didn't get far too however before Ms Dexter grabbed hold of the girl and dragged her back to Miss Kennedy to take her last five strokes. Time was of the essence. There were 58 other girls to punish and they couldn't waste time chasing after them after every stroke. Efficiency was everything, and so bending Carol over, twisting her arms up behind her back and holding her head down between her legs, Ms Dexter held the squealing, struggling girl in place as Miss Kennedy administered another two dozen brutal strokes; stopping just short of scarring her for life, but only just.

After that of course, it was all over; at least that is until the rest of the girls had received their medicine. And so ordering the wailing girl back to the end of the line, Ms Dexter grabbed hold of Lucy, and placing the girl in the same debilitating double arm lock, held her fast as Mrs Williams' cane went to work on her rump. When it was all finally over, Lucy's bottom truly felt as if it had been covered with stinging nettles and set ablaze. The poor girl was utterly inconsolable, and so whilst Ms Dexter tried three times to order her into the corner, in the end the Headmistress had to whip the girl over to the corner like a disobedient mare and put her hands up on her head herself.

"Keep it going!" she commanded, marching up and down the line of teachers, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. "Anyone who holds up the line gets a cropping from me and a double helping from my colleagues!" And seeing how distraught both Carol and Lucy were after just one ride of the merry-go-round, every girl in line decided there and then to do exactly as they were told.

"It's okay Carol," soothed Helen, hugging her best friend better as they both waited together at the back of the line. "Don't worry. It's all over now."

"No, its not," she wept, crying on the young blonde's shoulder. "It's never over."

Janet and Samantha both took their canings as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And so even though Ms Dexter had to force both girls over to the corner beside Lucy and all three of them continued to howl like wounded banshees, the line moved on without a hitch.

"Are you going to keep your hands on your head darling?" asked Mrs Dunston as she hitched up Kia's skirt and gently smacked each thighs in turn. But the tall, slim redhead never even said a word. Instead she just stood there, wincing with pain as the smacking grew more and more forceful, the tears welled up in her eyes and her tender white thighs were turned an ever deeper shade of red.

At that moment however, Ms Dunston noticed Carol and Helen hugging at the back of the line and practically blew her top.

"I told you to keep your hands on your heads!" she barked, storming up to the girls, grabbing them both by the hair and dragging them out of the line. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

With that Carol squealed and kicked with agony as the Head' beat her sore and tender thighs with her sharp leather crop.

"What's the matter? Didn't we punish you enough?"

The pain was unbearable, but with Ms Dunston pulling at her hair the poor girl couldn't help but try to break free, much to the Head teacher's satisfaction.

"There you are!" she mocked delightedly. "See how easy it is? Now just keep your hands up there and take it like a woman!"

Doing as she was told, Carol did her best to stay still as Ms Dexter cropped every inch of her thighs, beating them until they were covered with angry purple welts. But in spite of her best efforts, the girl soon began dancing on the spot like a member of "River Dance," twisting and turning this way and that, ensuring that Ms Dexter was able to crop her front and back.

Helen meanwhile didn't even dare to move. After all, Ms Dexter was mad enough as it was, and she didn't want to risk the possibility that scratching her nose might anger her even further.

Having already cried until her tears stained her blouse, Carol was weeping as hard as ever when Ms Dexter finally sent her to the front of the line, ensuring that her second helping would come as soon as possible. And then as Mrs Archibald stung the poor girl's swollen thighs even further, Ms Dexter turned her attention to Helen and gave the girl her first taste of discipline.

"Stop squirming girl!" snapped Mrs Archibald, tired of Carol's relentless struggling. But with her thighs ablaze, the slightest touch would have been enough to make the girl yelp with pain. And as it was, Mrs Archibald was striking the girl with a great deal more ferocity.

Helen too was now howling with pain as the Headmistress beat her thighs. And with every other girl who had been punished howling just as loudly, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the teachers to be heard. But thanks to the efficiency of Ms Dexter's plan, there was little need for spoken commands.

And so it went on, with every girl in the upper-sixthform receiving their just punishment from all six teachers in line, as well as severe cropping from the Headmistress if they even tried to resist. Sometimes they took it obediently and sometimes they had to be restrained. But in the end each and every on of them submitted to their Headmistress' authority.

It took all afternoon, but by four o'clock all sixty of them were stood weeping in the corner with their hands on their heads and the stripy purple thighs and bottoms on display for all to see.

"That's better," smiled Ms Dexter, proud of her accomplishment and happy to see that their rebellious nature had been broken once and for all.

"Now then girls, the school buses will be leaving in about five minutes. So the question is, have you learned your lesson or shall we punish you again before letting you walk home?"

"No Miss," they all whimpered in perfect harmony. "Please, we've learned our lesson. We're sorry that we challenged your authority. Please let us go home."

"Okay then girls," she said with an almost sincere air of forgiveness. "Put your knickers back on and run to the bus stop. And don't forget to tell your friends what happens to you if you step out of place."

Gathering together in the corner of the Hall, the teachers then watched, barely able to keep themselves from laughing as they watched the girls wince with pain, carefully slipping on their knickers and then running out into the corridor as fast as they could.

"Do you have any idea how course and rough the upholstery is on the seats on the school buses?" asked Mrs Kelly, not sure whether to smile or wince at the idea of the girls having to sit on them the whole journey home.

"Oh yes," declared the Headmistress. "Why do you think I let them off so lightly?"

The Butler

Story from Februs 38.

The Butler
A Short Story by Matthew Silk

Sam picked up the phone in her office and shouted, 'Tony get in here!'

She slammed the receiver down in irritation and flung herself back in her chair. Why was it men NEVER did what you asked them to?

A minute later Tony, early 20's, short cropped hair, handsome in his fresh, youthful way, sidled into her office with all the arrogance of his young years.

'Tony, the figures for the Zurich meeting next week. Where the hell are they?' Sam demanded.

'Oh, there was a computer glitch. We're a bit behind. I was going to put them together on Monday,' Tony replied breezily.

'MONDAY!' Sam exploded. 'I fly to Zurich on Monday afternoon. What do you think I'm going to do: read them on the way out?'

Tony shrugged and smirked.

'I want them on my desk 8am Monday morning or you are out of here. And I mean that.'

Tony's face fell. 'Hey, no. I'm taking my girlfriend to Paris for the weekend. I've booked the Ritz and everything. Can't someone else do it?'

Sam leaned forward slowly. 'Tony you've got to realise there are not many 24 year olds on your salary. You've got to earn it.'

Tony left muttering 'bitch' under his breath. Jan, Sam's secretary, come in with a questioning look on her face.

'He's been talking about that trip all week. I think he was going to propose.'

'He'll get over it,' shrugged Sam sweeping back her blonde hair in frustration. 'When I was at his stage I would have jumped at producing those figures. These boys think the city is all champagne, Ferraris and bragging to girls in bars.'

Sam saw Tony surrounded by his mates glancing in sullen rebellion in her direction. She got up. 'I'm going home. I can't stand them all mooning at me like that.'

She walked out of her office across the floor feeling the eyes of the young boys in the bank staring at her resentfully. 'Goodnight boys, see you Monday,' she said cheerily.

As the lift doors closed she gave a long sigh and felt suddenly tired. It was a constant battle with the boys and a battle she had to fight on her own. She knew the senior partners were looking closely at how she was handling the pressure. If she complained how tough it was they would think it as a sign of weakness, but they didn't see it was twice as hard being a woman in the boys' club of the city.

Still, there were compensations. Like the gleaming new Z3 in the underground car park, her luxury riverside penthouse flat and of course George, her butler, even now preparing for her return...

She took the Z3 out into the city traffic opening the roof to the sunshine.

A builder in a white transit whistled as he looked down at her bare legs.

She sped away.

At the next set of lights she nicked open her mobile and dialled George.

'Very good, madam,' he said in his slightly Scottish burr which never betrayed his real feelings.

'Oh, and George.'

'Yes, madam.'

She hesitated. This was it. Did he know what she was going to say? She'd been thinking about this more and more through the week. The time seemed right. She was tense and needed to be relaxed for the meeting, but you could never really tell, not until you were there, bottom bared, the strap in his big hands...

'George, will you stay late tonight?'

They both knew what she was asking for. She held her breath feeling as if he had already pulled her wrists behind her back and was bending her over the back of the sofa.

There was a terrible silence at the other end of the line as he decided her fate.

'Of course, madam,' he said in the same calm even tone he always used to address her.

She closed the mobile and felt a thrill of anticipation. There was no other feeling like it in the world. Already the adrenaline was pumping.

She did not have time for a relationship with a man. She could look for a husband when she had made her money for life. Right now she was single and ambitious and happy to keep it that way.

But her life could be lonely and domestic chores tedious after a day of high powered decision making. A manservant seemed the ideal solution. A man who was reliable, efficient, attentive, loyal and discreet but did not went to sleep with her.

George greeted Sam at the door wearing his red striped apron. The flat was filled with the warm aroma of his cooking.

'Hello George,' she smiled conspiratorially. Once she had given her permission the discipline could come at any time.

She waited for an order to go and bend over the sofa with her short skirt pulled up and knickers on view but none came and she walked past him into the living room with its spectacular view of the river.

Another good thing about George, if he had been her lover she could have had to ask him all about his day, they would have been coexisting or he would have been jealous of her career. George was simply there caring for her with meticulous attention.

She threw her bag and coat on the sofa with deliberate carelessness. George hated untidiness, she really did feel mischievous.

He came in without a word of disapproval and picked up the coat and bag. She'd already done enough to be put over his knee and spanked swift and hard with his big, powerful hand but he made no move.

He returned to the living room. 'Would madam care for an aperitif?'

She giggled. 'Oh you mean a drink. I thought for a moment you had something else in mind'. She looked at him coyly but his stony expression remained impassive. Another stroke earned. Or perhaps six hard spanks over a kitchen chair with his leather paddle reddening her bare bottom while she counted and thanked him for each one. Mmmm...

She opened the sliding doors and stepped out onto the balcony. She stretched out on the lounger closing her eyes. Someone once told her your butler knows everything about you but says nothing. Sam had not appreciated at first what "everything" meant. Within a week George had tidied her vibrators, discovered the tawse and riding crop she had been using on herself in her knicker drawer and knew exactly what she liked to read in bed.

Once she realised how impossible it was to hide anything from him she found it surprisingly easy to ask him to use the tawse on her himself.

'Please don't be offended I won't mind if you don't want to...'

'Of course, madam,' he had said as if she had just asked him to do the washing up.

Soon after she found herself lying flat on the bed in her bra and knickers with George standing over her sternly, the tawse in his hands. 'It is customary, madam, with your permission, to administer the tawse to the bare buttocks.'

'How do you know that, George?'

'A Scottish upbringing madam, coupled, I must confess, with a certain prior knowledge.'

'George! You've done this before!'

'It is an unusual, but not uncommon request from ladies who have previously employed me, madam,' he said, sliding her knickers deftly down her legs and hooking them like a trophy over the bedpost.

George had proved himself to be a remarkably efficient, experienced and strict disciplinarian.

After that first spanking their relationship took a new, irreversible direction. She never knew how he would deal with her. Sometimes he just appeared with a leather glove on his hand and issued a curt order, 'Over my knee, lassie.'

Or she might find him – standing by a kitchen chair, the belt wrapped round his fist. 'Bend over, lassie.'

There were so many ways. She'd been spanked with wet dressing gown cords while holding onto the cold shower in the bathroom. She'd been laid face down across the solid wooden coffee table, her feet dangling over the edge end felt the smack of the paddle on her arse. She'd been bent over the balcony rail and felt the lash of the martinet as she watched the sun set over the city skyline...

'Your drink, madam.' She opened her eyes with a start to see George holding out a tray for her.

'What time would madam like to eat?'

It depended when she was going to be spanked. Which was better, spanked first then eat with a stinging behind or eat then spanked, or spanked, eat, then spanked again, or spanked between courses... oh stop it! she admonished herself.

'I don't know George. You decide.'

'Very good madam. Shall I run your bath?'

'Yes, George, that would be nice.' It would also give him the opportunity to use those dressing gown cords. The door locked. No escape. God she remembered that night. She shocked herself sometimes how far she allowed him to go.

She sipped her drink and closed her eyes. The cane. George, in his formal butler clothes. She, bending over, fingers pointing to the floor twitching nervously as he swished the rattan behind her. Her backside feeling enormous and so vulnerable.

Or standing underneath the black metal spiral staircase, her soft white dressing gown falling gracefully from her shoulders revealing her elegant blonde slenderness, being ordered to raise her arms, grip the cold metal as he approaches with a blindfold.

'Your bath is ready, madam.'

He was nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

She took off her clothes in her bedroom and slipped on hew dressing gown, soft and warm. George was already testing the water with his hand and frothing up the bubbles. She looked for the damp cords but could not see them, the candles were flickering in the darkness.

He removed the dressing gown leaving her naked before him. He could order her to grab the rail on the other side of the bath. 'Legs straight, ankles touching, bottom out, chin up.' But he simply stood aside and she slipped naked into the warm tub.

'Oh, George, would you put some music on?'

'Certainly, madam. May I suggest Handel?'

'No George. I don't think so. Moby. Play.'

'Very good madam.' He hated "popular" music as he called it. Silly old sod. She smiled naughtily as the clapping rhythm of the first track beat through the flat. 'A little louder, George, I can barely hear it,' she called out, grinning cheekily. There was a pause and then the volume was turned up, but only slightly.

'Three extra strokes for the loud music lassie.' She smiled and sank beneath the bubbles.

* * *

When she was ready to get out, George stood by her with a towel which he tucked round her. Her legs were pink from the heat of the bathwater. She went into her bedroom where she dried herself and let the towel fall to admire herself in the mirror. She turned her back and examined her bottom, round and still young and pert. She moved her hips feeling the undulations of her cheeks as she cupped them in her hands wondering what marks she would bear later, trying to imagine the sting.

'Let me put an end to those thoughts, lassie. Bend over, that's right, where you are standing with your bottom facing the mirror and your feet apart... Now will it be 12 strokes of the cane or six with the crop?'

'Oh the cane please, sir. Two strokes of the cane are better than any with that nasty crop.'

But George was busy in the kitchen. He really was making her wait tonight.

She went to her knicker drawer and picked out her sexiest black silk underwear. Mischievously, she slipped her dressing gown back on. George disapproved most sternly if she did not dress properly for dinner. If that didn't provoke him she did not know what would.

She went out into the living room. The dining table was laid for dinner with candles and napkin. As George entered with the wine she caught his silent disapproving eye. Her hands reached automatically to the belt ready to disrobe. But he swept past her. This was serious. She was clocking up punishment points by the handful and nothing was being done about them. She felt herself gradually losing control as in a negotiation that was going wrong.

'What's for dinner, George?' she asked as lightly as she could as she dropped her hands.

'Souffle to start, madam, followed by a cutlet of lamb in a rosemary and red wine sauce.' He was pompously proud of his cooking.

'It sounds lovely.'

'It is ready now, madam.' He looked meaningfully at her dressing gown.

A sudden wicked idea came to her. 'Oh, George, it is such a lovely night. You know I think I shall have dinner on the terrace.'

That did the trick. George looked ready to explode. She had him now. She smiled innocently, her hands moving seductively back up to her belt, ready to open her gown and let it fall to the carpet, baring herself before him for the thrashing she now so thoroughly deserved.

'As you wish, madam,' he said through grilled teeth, once again ignoring her.

She was left open-mouthed with astonishment at her let-off as he cleared the table in double quick time and relaid it on the terrace.

'Dinner is served, madam,' he announced a little breathlessly, five minutes later.

The dinner was, needless to say, superb. She sat alone enjoying the view of the many lights of London below and began to relax. She spent her life battling the boys in the office, fighting for deals, fighting for space, never giving in like everyone else in the modern age. It was so relaxing to have someone like George to submit to when you came home.

It was getting chilly. She took coffee in the living room while George cleared up. She asked him to put Handel on the CD player and listened to it on the sofa.

She saw him leave the kitchen and go to her bedroom and she knew he was finally preparing for her.

She began tingling all over as the adrenaline pumped through her. These were always the best and worst moments like just before an important presentation when her nerves were jangling.

'Stand up, lassie, and remove your dressing gown!' The order took her by surprise. George had approached so quietly she had not heard him. Instead of slipping the dressing gown seductively to the floor as she imagined she would, she stood up a little too quickly and gawkily and the gown fell in a lump at her feet.

George's face was as hard as granite, chilling her. 'Step this way, lassie. It's time to pay for your atrocious behaviour tonight. Quick now, you little tart. I'm going to teach you some respect.'

He had never spoken to her so disrespectfully. She stood frozen to the spot not knowing how to react.

'So, disobey would you? Right, that's it. Treat me like a dog and I'll' treat you like a dog. On your hands and knees. NOW! Crawl to your punishment.'

She dropped down on all fours and began crawling humiliatingly past his feet. She had negotiated fearlessly with some of the most powerful men in the city but they were pussycats compared to George in this mood.

Her bedroom had been transformed from the soft room of her sleep into a bare, stark dungeon. The bed had been stripped to the sheets and the pillows removed. Free standing spotlights illuminated the bed in an unforgiving glare. The doors of the wardrobe had been opened so the mirrors inside faced the bed. In the corner there was a table covered with a lace cloth almost like an altar and on the cloth were two tawses, a martinet, a crop and a selection of vibrators.

As she crawled across the soft carpet a tape of a previous punishment began to play through the speakers. The vicious swish! and smack! of the tawse striking her bare behind followed by her cry vividly bringing home her coming torment. She glanced in the mirror at the person on all fours looking nervously back at her and wondered, not for the first time, whether they were really the same person.

George picked up the tawse, every movement precise and composed. She saw him in the mirror stand behind her, the tawse dangling down, her rear nicely positioned doggie fashion. He slipped the leather strands through his fingers, raised the tawse and gave her three smart strokes across her taut knickers.

'Don't disobey me again. Now lie on the bed, lassie.'

She scrambled to her feet, her cheeks stinging and lay flat out on the bed on her stomach, her arms stretched out above her head and ankles pressed together. She thought of the boys in the office – how they would love to see their boss stretched out like this waiting meekly to be spanked. Or one of the Swiss bankers she was to meet next week, 'Certain interesting information has come to light about you, Miss Brown. Before we begin this meeting we are going to bend you over this table and Heinrich here will lift your skirt and administer traditional strokes of the cane to your English bottom. Kindly count the strokes clearly and thank us for each one. Afterwards, your knickers will be taken down and your marks inspected, when you have been chastised to everyone's satisfaction we will begin the negotiations.'

She searched George's impassive features. He would never betray her, would he?

He unclipped her bra, neatly removing it and then slipped her knickers smoothly down her legs, hanging them on the bed post. She closed her eyes and saw a vision of Tony smirking at her predicament. (Hello, Miss Brown, George has told us all about what you like and how you like it...)

Smack! The tawse landed across her bare behind opening her eyes in an instant.

She had barely time to catch her breath before the tawse landed again equally sharp and uncompromising. She looked up pleadingly at George but his Celtic features remained stern and determined, betraying no emotion.

After six he ordered her, 'Turn round, lassie.' She obediently lay facing up to him gingerly placing her tender bullocks on the sheet.

George looked down at her and then look a firm grip of her ankles with his left hand and raised her feel so they were pointing straight up at the ceiling, lifting her half off the bed.

'Whoh!' she cried, taken by surprise. She flung her arms out wide and grabbed the sheet on either side to steady herself. The flat leather tongues smacked her bottom forcing an immediate, yelping cry from her lips.

He lifted her higher by the ankles, his fingers pressing into her bone and spanked her again, holding her tight as her legs twisted in his grip. She tried to cover her bottom with her hands but he simply yanked her higher so she was resting on her shoulders unable to prevent the furious lashes of the tawse across her behind. She begged to be spared but he was so strong it was impossible to escape. He held her comfortably, as if from a hook, and ignoring her shouted apologies and promises never to treat him disrespectfully again, continued to strap her behind and thighs with free, unfettered swings of his arm. She had long lost count of the number of strokes when he suddenly let go of her ankles and dropped her back on the bed.

She rolled onto her side clasping her hands to her burning rear while he went to the table and returned with the crop and a vibrator.

'You were a very naughty wee lassie, tonight,' he said calmly.

'Naughty, yes,' she confessed in a whisper, desperate to please.

'And what happens to naughty lassies?'

She eyed the crop suspiciously. 'Oh no, George.'

'Oh aye, lassie.'

He took hold of her feet again pushed her up the bed and lifted her ankles back over her head until they were hooked through the bedrail above her.

She looked straight up at him through her bent knees. 'No, George, please...' But he remained coldly formal and unmoved.

He took a wooden ruler from his inside pocket.

'Stop your whingeing, lassie. Now open your mouth.'

She opened her mouth and he placed the ruler between her teeth pressing it hard against her lips.

'Bite down on it.'

She clenched her teeth tasting the wood with her tongue.

'Now shout as loud as you can.'

'Nngghhhnnnnnn,' she yelled, barely making any sound.

'Good, we don't want to disturb the neighbours,' he said.

He knelt on the bed and switched on the black vibrator gently pushing it into her just a little at first but sending the buzzing rhythms through her in waves.

She began to moan as he slid in deeper, harder and stiffer than any man could be and as totally reliable and efficient as George himself. He thrust it in and out smoothly, her moans growing louder as the humming shaft drilled deeper.

Then he withdrew it wet and glistening. She watched him stand and raise the crop and saw him swing it down across her buttocks with the full force of his arm.

'NNGGHHHNNNN.' She yelled as loud as she could but making barely any sound at all. She hung on the rail, the effects of the stroke burning deep into her as he observed her, totally detached from her suffering.

When he was ready he delivered another stroke and then another, cruel and precise in their execution, their effects searing through her. Then he inserted the vibrator, slipping it in and out of her, then the crop lashing her again, then the vibrator, on and on, open to both, never to be forgotten...

* * *

She lay face down on the bed basking in the warm afterglow, the stripes, still stinging, lined across her backside, binding her like an embrace. George had been superb tonight. He had never taken her that far before. Still, she fingered the ridges across her cheeks, and smiled shyly to herself, she had deserved it, she had really been a very, very naughty lassie.

She heard George cough politely behind her. 'Will that be all, madam?'

'Yes, George,' she sighed. 'For tonight. Oh, and George?'

'Yes, madam.'

'Thank you.'

Alice by Julia Marlowe

Story from Privilege Club 10.

Alice
by Julia Marlowe

I can't get Alice out of my mind. I'm like a man possessed, a hopeless, burnt-out case, I know, but what can I do? I shall probably eventually go mad, but it's my fate. I'm finished. The funny thing is that it never would have happened if I hadn't lost my glasses on the Underground. I would probably have finished up marrying some nice girl and my life would have proceeded smoothly. But it's no use, once you've tasted the fruit of paradise, nothing else will do. On such trivial events do our destinies hang.

For me, though, it really began with the phone call. I live alone in my flat in a small Midlands town. Even as I picked up the phone I was still cursing my stupidity for losing the glasses. After I'd given my number a woman's voice came through. It was soft, warm, mellifluous, musical even. I liked it immediately. You can mostly tell a person's character over the phone. "Excuse me, have I the right person? Is that Mr Broderick?"

"Speaking."

"Ah... Well, you're in luck, Mr Broderick, for I have your glasses here in my hand."

"No! ... God! You have? Wonderful! Where did you find them?"

"On the Northern Line between Chalk Farm and Belsize Park."

"Oh, that's absolutely great. I can't thank you enough. You're an angel."

"Well, I don't know about that. You were wise to have your name and phone number inside the case, but unfortunately no address. Would you like me to send them?"

"Yes, of... Er, no, wait a minute. Look, I'm visiting London again this weekend on business, so why don't I meet you and I can reward you? You at least deserve something for your trouble."

"That's very kind of you, but that isn't necessary. I don't -"

"Look, I insist. Please let me meet you. You've no idea how grateful I am. It's the least I can do to buy you a drink, or even a meal."

There was a long pause. Finally she said, "Very well, Mr Broderick. Yes, that would be lovely."

That's what started it all and sure enough that Saturday I met her as prearranged at Chalk Farm station which was near where she lived. I should have known from the voice that she would look a bit special, I suppose. But I wasn't prepared for what I saw. She was an absolute stunner. Her name was Lauren Masters. She was as tall as me and had a figure to die for. Her pale skin was flawless, the corners of her very generous mouth turned upwards. She wore those extremely large glasses that make a woman look even more attractive, that enhance her looks. I must have been staring like an idiot. I couldn't believe my luck. She took my hand in greeting and felt in her bag, bringing out my specs.

"Here," she said. "Look after them this time and don't lose them again."

As we walked off she told me she knew a really good Italian restaurant just up the road which she frequently used. It only took us about ten minutes to get there and we had an excellent meal with a couple of glasses of wine. She wanted to go Dutch, but I wouldn't hear of it, saying yet again I wanted to thank her for finding and returning the glasses. She told me that she owned her own business, a beauty consultancy, which I didn't find in the least hard to believe. She was a wonderful role model for her clients. After lunch we got a bus and she showed me a few of the city's sights I'd never managed to get round to before.

It must have been around four o'clock when I realised that the parting of the ways had probably arrived. I was just about to ask her if I could see her the following day when she asked me if I would like to go back to her place for tea. I needed no second bidding and in less than another fifteen minutes we were entering her flat just off Primrose Hill.

Inviting me to sit down, she disappeared for a few minutes and when she returned she had changed into an ankle-length sleeveless print dress buttoned down the front only as far as her upper thighs, so that her gorgeous slim legs were revealed by the split effect. She produced a couple of glasses and we relaxed to talk some more. Later, after a light afternoon snack, we sat chatting amiably, when suddenly the door opened and a girl entered. She was in school uniform, white blouse and loosely knotted tie, her navy skirt rather startlingly short, halfway up her thighs. I blinked, for she couldn't possibly have been a schoolgirl, they would never have allowed her to dress like that anyway, in such a provocative manner. She must have been at least eighteen. She glanced at me, then looked down at the floor as she began to walk across the room to the far door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lauren snapped. "Where are your manners, girl? What do you say when we have visitors?"

I was startled by Lauren's tone. The warmth and softness had suddenly disappeared. I couldn't believe it. The girl turned to look at me. She was above average height, very slim. Her dark hair was cut short like a boy's. She was very pretty, but her whole demeanour was diffident in the extreme. She blushed and looked as if she wanted to disappear from my gaze. She quickly looked at the floor again.

"This is Mr Broderick," Lauren said peremptorily. "Say hello to him."

"Hello," the girl whispered.

"This is Alice, Mr Broderick. She's my protégée. I'm grooming her to take over the business at a later date. She lives here too. She belongs to me."

Lauren looked amused at my surprised expression. "Oh, she'll do anything I ask. You can have her if you want her. Any way you like. She won't mind. Come over here, you silly girl."

Alice walked over towards us and stood, her eyes still cast down.

"Don't you think she's exceedingly pretty, Mr Broderick?"

Though now quite dumb-founded, I nodded.

"Very," I said, and meant it, for she was.

"Nevertheless, she has to be punished for her gross ill manners." I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but Lauren went on, addressing the girl, "Get across my knee. Now!"

To my utter amazement, the girl turned to the older woman and bent her body across her lap, supporting her arms on the sofa. As she did so the short skirt rucked up to the very top of her thighs, displaying a pair of beautiful firm, rounded bottom-cheeks. They were completely naked, something else I was totally unprepared for. In spite of myself, I could feel the incipient stirring of an erection, which I hoped wasn't obvious.

Lauren didn't mess about. She proceeded to deliver a series of heavy slaps to the girl's gorgeous behind. I winced, for they must have stung sharply. After Lauren had finished giving her at least thirty blows the girl's buttocks had reddened considerably. "There. The only trouble, Mr Broderick, is that she likes it. But I think that since you're the one she's insulted, you too should punish her, don't you?"

I opened my mouth to decline, when she added, "Only I think you should use your belt."

"But -" I began.

"Oh come, don't be reticent. She deserves it. She always does. She's dying for you to beat her."

Lauren pulled her off her lap. As Alice stood, the older woman looked across at me and said, "If you don't believe me, come and feel this."

I got up and walked across and she took my hand and placed my palm between the girl's legs. Her beautiful cunt was wet through, the juice running over my fingers.

"Jesus," I said. My hard-on was now becoming unbearable. I didn't care any more, realising I would have to fuck one of these two, if not both.

"See what I mean? It's all right, you can touch her. Any time, anywhere. She's all yours. I know you find it hard to believe, but she's a complete slut. There's nothing she won't do for you."

Turning to Alice, she said, "Bend over the table."

As Alice compliantly leaned over the table her arms spread wide, giving me an even lovelier view of her delicious behind, I knew there was no way I could resist the offer. Her rounded, dimpled cheeks curved in towards the valley below which formed their junction, her plump split peach pertly and enticingly exposed in that darker area.

I undid my belt and stepping forward, delivered a cracking, stinging blow over both already flushed buttocks. I'd never done this in my life before, but I was beside myself, the girl's extreme compliance and stance were too much for me. I thwacked her another with the belt and another and continued like a maniac, the marks making a crisscross pattern over that vulnerable rump. I don't know how long I continued or how many lashes I gave her. Once, I glanced over at Lauren and my jaw dropped to see that the split skirt had fallen off her thighs, her legs were open wide and she was vigorously masturbating, her long slim fingers circulating and rubbing over her clit with abandon.

That was it. That was enough. I dropped the belt and unzipped my fly, dragged out my cock as fast as I could, and buried the purple end deep within Alice's glorious cunt. Within moments I was fucking her as if the world was about to end and she was about to be taken from me. I was helpless.

"That's right, Mr Broderick. Fuck her hard. She can never get enough, you know."

I was a bit out of practice and Alice was so unbelievably and magnificently tight that I couldn't hold out any longer.

"I'm coming!" I cried, withdrawing as my cock began jerking out of control.

Alice quickly turned and dropped to her knees. She took my cock in her hand and clamped her sweet full lips over the end as I shot the load deep into her mouth. I was astonished to see her lick and suck it like an expert. She'd certainly done this before. Some of the cream spurted over her face as she withdrew her lips, but she used her fingers to scoop up and lick the rest and clean the end of my cock completely.

Lauren too cried out as she also came. Both their faces were flushed, and I suppose mine was too as I sank back into the armchair.

"God," I said. "That was unbelievable. You two are something else."

"Alice, go to your room now," Lauren said. "And don't forget that work you have to do for me."

As the girl left, Lauren said, "Well, what do you think?"

"What do I think? I've never seen anything like it. I'm amazed."

"Will you stay over tonight?"

"Well, thanks." Naturally, I envisaged more of the same before the weekend was over, so I was hardly going to refuse.

No more reference was made to the event which had just taken place. For the rest of the afternoon and evening it was just as if it hadn't happened. Lauren said there was an excellent play on in the West End if I wished to go, but I was tired and settled for staying in. When I was shown my room at the end of the evening, if I expected I was going to sleep with either of them, I mistaken. I was shown a guestroom and that's where I slept - alone.

The following day, Sunday, Lauren took me to see more of the city. We ate at a different restaurant this time for lunch before returning to the flat later in the afternoon. There was yet another surprise in store for me, for as we entered this time Alice was dressed in a maid's uniform and was busy dusting the furniture and vacuuming. The difference was that this time she was wearing silk stockings and a suspender belt, but the black skirt was as minuscule as ever. Her bare bottom-cheeks looked absolutely lush when she bent over to dust the coffee table.

"Oh, my God," Lauren said. "You should have finished this by now, you stupid little bitch. Put the machine away and go to your room, I'll deal with you later."

When she had gone, Lauren turned to me and said, "Sorry about this, Mr Broderick. It's so embarrassing. The little trollop is determined to spoil our weekend."

I didn't think so, she certainly wasn't spoiling mine, but I wasn't going to voice that sentiment. We settled down and she fetched out some more wine. We sat and talked at length about our respective jobs. I sell computer software and she seemed very interested in my varied anecdotes. After a while she said, "Excuse me, we must see what Alice is up to. I can't trust her."

She went to the door and called the girl's name. After a moment or two, Alice appeared, her gaze, as always, avoiding my eyes.

Lauren said, "The cleaning should have been finished before we arrived and you know it. So you know what that means, don't you?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"Now apologise to Mr Broderick."

"I'm sorry, Mr Broderick," Alice almost whispered.

"Now, bend over the edge of that armchair, you little slut."

Alice bent over just as she had done yesterday and once more her black pleated maid's skirt rucked up to show those wonderful curves of her bottom-checks. I gulped. Again, I could feel my cock quickly rising in anticipation. My throat was dry and I licked my lips. Lauren went over to a chest of drawers and, opening one, produced a wicked-looking thin cane, which she began to flex and a moment later gave the girl a resounding thwack across the left buttock, producing a prominent red weal. She then gave her another on the right one, forming a crisscross.

The effect on me was immediate. I had a hard-on fit to burst out of my pants and I began rubbing it through my trouser pocket. This hadn't gone unnoticed by Lauren, who smiled.

Alice wriggled her bum lasciviously, which was too much for me and I had to finally free my cock so that I could wank it more easily. Meanwhile Lauren gave the girl a series of further cuts with the cane until at last I could hear Alice whimpering.

Lauren handed me the cane and I gave the girl a further six, at which I was almost on the verge of coming, but fortunately I managed to just keep in control. A bead of pre-come had formed on my tingling glans. Bending over, Lauren prised the girl's fiery red bottom-cheeks well apart, revealing her dimpled little anus.

"Now there's a little treasure for you, Mr Broderick. I can assure you, she loves that best of all."

I was more than ready. I positioned myself against the backs of Alice's beautiful soft thighs and rubbed her enticing little arsehole a few times with the tip of my cock before finally pushing it into the tiny aperture. It was difficult, naturally, but it was soon obvious that the experience wasn't new to the girl, for the rectal muscles soon slackened and I was able to enter with ease. It was even better than yesterday, if that were possible. It was heaven. As I fucked away, the girl actually started moaning with obvious pleasure. Meanwhile Lauren had come behind me, loosened my belt and dropped my pants to the ground. I then felt her fingers inserted into my own rear hole and the intense pleasure was even doubled.

It's no use, I can't describe the joy of that afternoon, that whole weekend. These two had led me to pleasures I could only previously dream of. They were quite weird, both of them, totally far out, but I loved it. I wouldn't have wanted them any different.

Lauren allowed me to sleep with Alice that night, though she never came to join in. Naturally, I wondered what Lauren would be like, but I never got to find out. Alice though was sensational. This incredibly innocent-looking creature was in fact a sensual volcano. Her appearance and demeanour belied her intense sexuality. I couldn't begin to list the things she did to me, things I never even knew existed. She hardly spoke a word. Alice believed one act was worth a thousand words.

And that was the first weekend just over a year ago. I visited them every weekend after that for about six months. I could never get enough, I was like an addict, a man possessed. During the week I couldn't get Alice's pert little bottom, her plump little quim and beautiful small breasts out of my mind. I was sick with sex and Saturday could never come fast enough. I never once had sex with Lauren though, yet I would dearly have loved to. I tried to approach her once, but she drew away, making it clear that she wasn't available.

Then six months ago I visited the flat one Saturday only to find it vacant. On enquiry with the landlord, who lived on the premises, I discovered that they had left early that week. He had no idea where. I was devastated.

The following weeks I was like a drug addict in cold turkey. I couldn't eat, I lost weight and was off ill from work on several occasions.

As I said before, I'm finished. I'm a man possessed. The constant vision of Alice, her spectre, haunts me, and I'm going under. I know now that suicide is only a breath away, there's no way I can last out...

I wrote the above a few days ago. Then this morning my doorbell rang and when I opened it, Lauren stood there, looking as radiant and composed as ever. I was almost delirious and simply fell into her arms. I immediately asked her where Alice was, of course. She asked me to let her in and when settled she would tell me.

Once inside, she told me that she was on her way to see some friends in Leeds and thought she would drop in to see me en route. I told her she had done the right thing, but that she was very remiss in leaving and not giving me her address.

"Yes, I was very naughty, and I hope you can forgive me. I really should be chastised for that."

When we were sitting having a drink later she said, "Alice left and went abroad to live in Spain. She met this bikey, a real slob I can tell you. I wouldn't have touched him with the proverbial bargepole - he never washed, he stank even. But that's Alice for you. Unpredictable. It won't last. I give her a few months and she'll be back. But you never know. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe we'll never see her again."

Lauren smiled, and continued. "That's life. He can't give her what we gave her, he hasn't the imagination. She doesn't know what she's missing, does she Mr Broderick? Silly girl."

I asked her if she wanted to stay overnight before proceeding on her journey and she happily agreed.

Which just about brings my story up to date. It's evening now and Lauren is lying face down naked on my bed. Her wrists are tied to the bedpost, her legs spread wide. Her bright blue eyes are sparkling behind those huge glasses. I have in my hand a riding-crop that I got out of the wardrobe.

"You're now going to know how Alice felt," I say, smoothing my palm across her delightful firm bottom, which I'd previously oiled at her request. It's the first time I've ever seen it and it's lovely and I kiss it. My cock has already risen, hard and quivering, with the excitement of what I'm about to do.

"Oh, rest assured I know all about that, Mr Broderick. Alice and I often reversed our roles, but you never saw that. Alice only showed you the side she wanted. As did I."

She smiles. "Go on, Mr Broderick. Give me the whip, and then fuck me silly." Oh, yes, Lauren. That's what I've wanted to do since I first laid eyes on you. I'm happy again at last. My saviour has arrived. I've finally come home.

"Certainly, Miss Masters." As I draw back the crop to deliver, I say, "This is for Alice, God bless her."