‘Well pull ‘em up tight, girl.’ Impatience in his voice, bleating despair in
hers as she pulls the insubstantial nylon material of her knickers up snug
between her buttocks.
‘Sorry sir — s-sorry —’
She might as well have no knickers on
at all — her bum is absolutely bare save for the taut diagonals of her
suspenders curving round her flanks — except that high between her legs a
silken purse of pale yellow pouches that bit of her that she really wouldn’t
want him to see, though in truth it emphasises the plump pout of what it hides
more than conceals it. She pulls her knickers up tight, white-knuckled, pink-cheeked,
and feels the chill touch of the cane dallying with the undersides of her
bum-cheeks, feels it pat-pat-patt!
‘Did you tell your mother you’d be late?’
‘Er — n-no. I don’t think so —’
The cane swipes spitefully across both
cheeks. The girl gasps and clenches her buttocks together. He leaves the cane
dangling by its crooked handle from the stretch of her skirt between her legs,
and he goes to the telephone on his desk. The girl stares miserably at her
reflection in the window and thinks of Sally out with that new young man from
sales, and of Julie, his other daughter, on that promotional trip to Miami. A
tear trickles down her cheek; it’s one thing to be the Chairman’s daughter, but
quite another thing entirely when you are the daughter of the Chairman’s second wife.