Story from Janus 34 by R.T. Mason
Angela looked up at the clock. Half past six. ‘I’d better get ready. He doesn’t like me to be late.’
Bryan grunted but went on eating his dinner and reading the newspaper at the same time. His pretty 23-year-old wife got up and went upstairs, where there was shortly the sound of the shower running. Bryan, also 23, went on eating and reading as if oblivious to what Angela was doing, but he wasn’t. He was well aware that it was Wednesday evening again and he knew what that meant. Of course there was no point getting excited, he had after all agreed to it. All the same it was not something you could easily ignore.
Just to prove to himself that he really didn’t mind he shortly got up and followed Angela upstairs. In the bedroom she had just started dressing.
She gave a groan. ‘Oh god, Bryan, you’re not going to watch me, are you?’
Angela’s shapely form was nude apart from a white satin suspender belt and a pair of black nylon stockings. She was holding a pair of brief white nylon knickers and, bending to step into them, her full breasts were pendant, the pink nipples slightly erect from the shower. Bryan felt a twinge of lust — mingled with the sharp pang that for two hours this evening his wife would be someone else’s plaything.
Angela slid the knickers up the shapely stocking-clad legs and fitted them tautly over her quite full hips and bottom. She quickly took a matching bra and harnessed the bobbing breasts. As she did so Bryan reached for her.
‘Ange — why not tell him you’re ill or something. I... well I feel like... you know, bed.’
Irritatedly Angela pushed her husband away. ‘Oh god Bryan! You know I can’t. Look I wish you’d let me alone to get ready. Do we need the money or don’t we? And if you’re feeling horny save it up till I get back — you know it always turns you on to see me with some fresh red stripes on my bum.’
Bryan gave her a sullen look but did not stop his wife as she proceeded to put on a white schoolgirl blouse and a short navy blue pleated skirt, and then a red-and-mauve striped tie. She sat down at her dressing table and tied her shoulder-length hair into two bunches with red ribbons.
Bryan looked a bit sick. ‘Whatever do you look like!’
She made a face in the mirror. ‘Like a schoolgirl I suppose. And if you don’t like to see it why watch?’
She had a final look in the mirror, slipped on a pair of black high-heeled shoes, and stood up. With her fresh complexion and soft full mouth Angela did look like a schoolgirl — a rather mouth-watering Sixth Former which was what she was supposed to be.
She turned to Bryan and put her arms round him. In a more conciliatory tone she said, ‘Don’t worry about it, darling. I mean it’s not as if I was on the game, is it? It’s not as if he was doing me. And we agreed we could really use the money.’
She kissed him. ‘Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late. I’ll see you later, OK?’
Bryan said nothing as Angela slipped on a light raincoat and picked up her handbag, car keys and a straw boater with red-and-mauve ribbon matching her tie.
He watched her go out. There was shortly the sound of the car starting. He wondered whether to go out to the pub but decided he really didn’t want to. He went downstairs and started to do the washing up.
These Wednesday evenings had been going on for six weeks now. It had been a real shock when Angela had first mentioned it, that her friend Jane Walters knew this man, etc, etc. And then Angela had said she wouldn’t mind trying it, and after some discussion Bryan had agreed, as long as the bloke wouldn’t be screwing her. After all it was Angela who would be getting that cane on her bum.
The deciding factor had naturally been the 20 quid a time that Angela would get. But although he had agreed to it you couldn’t be expected to enjoy it. Especially during the actual two hours each Wednesday evening. When she got back, though, with those red stripes on her tail, well that was funny, he hated it but at the same time it turned him on.
It didn’t take Angela long to drive to Mr Holroyd’s, a quarter of an hour. As usual she felt the excitement welling up as she got closer. She had never been caned before, not before Mr Holroyd, had never really thought about it until that day her friend Jane told her what she did one afternoon a week. And had then asked if Angela would like to try it — Mr Holroyd was looking for another girl and Angela was his type. It had seemed just an impossible thing at first but then after thinking about it it hadn’t seemed quite so bad. If that was all he wanted.
So she had plucked up courage and finally broached the subject to Bryan. She had persuaded him to let her try, and it had started. She had been really scared at first, and as she had thought, it hurt like hell. But at the same time she found it stimulated and excited her — although she hadn’t told Bryan that.
At Mr Holroyd’s she parked the car and then wearing the light coat and carrying the hat walked up the driveway. At the back door, hidden from the street, she put the straw hat squarely on her head and then, heart beginning to thump, rang the bell.
It opened almost immediately. ‘Ah, Miss Simmonds. Yes, I was expecting you of course.’
Simmonds was her unmarried name, and it seemed to take her further than ever away from her married status, even in a way that was rather liberating. Mr Holroyd said using that real name added potency to it. He was sixtyish and a bit like schoolmaster although Jane said he was a retired civil servant. The eyes behind the spectacles were bright as inside the back porch his rather bony hands unbuttoned her coat. The hands pulled the coat apart and Angela gave a little gasp as he took hold of both breasts through the tight white school blouse.
‘Yes Miss. Reliable reports tell me you have been seen out with boys. Young louts, I’ve no doubt, who’ve been allowed to maul your body and get you all hot and excited, is that it?’
‘No sir!’ gasped Angela, flush-faced. It was almost as if she were 17 again, and all this was for real. He sounded as if he really meant it. Not that it had ever happened, not like this.
‘My sources, Miss Simmonds, are most reliable.’ One of the hands left her breasts and slid down and up the front of her short school skirt. Fingers lightly touched the bulge of her pubis through the tight nylon knickers. They moved spider-like.
‘This, Miss. Boys getting this all excited. Is that correct?’
‘N...no, sir,’ she felt herself trembling.
‘Turn round, Miss.’
She was breathing really fast now.
With her back facing him Mr Holroyd lifted the bottom of the coat and Angela’s skirt. His hand took a firm hold of one nylon-clad bottom cheek.
‘So what we will do, Miss Simmonds, is give this part of your anatomy a warming-up. In fact I intend to warm it up so much that you will not want to sit on it for some time to come. That is the best antidote I know for randiness in a Sixth Former.’
The hand gave her bottom a sharp pinch and then a slap. ‘So get into the sitting room, Miss — and get yourself ready. Look sharp!’
With a mixture of dread and excitement Angela went smartly into the room. She knew what she had to do and she also knew what she was going to get. It would hurt like bloody hell but at the same time she knew she would in a way enjoy it as well as hate it.
Angela took off the coat and the straw hat. Unfastened the skirt and stepped out of it, and then slid down the knickers and stepped out of them. She was nude below the waist apart from the suspender belt and stockings. Mr Holroyd standing in front of her now had the cane in his hand.
‘Yes Miss — girls who get hot between the legs need their bottoms hotting up, I’m afraid.’
A gasp from Angela as the cane whipped out and slashed into the side of her thigh, stinging like a wasp.
‘Get over, Miss. The usual position.’
Obediently Angela stood at the back of an upright chair and bent forward and down so that her arms and head were down in the seat. And her own bare seat was sticking prominently out, ripe globes awaiting the sharp kiss of that stinging cane.
It was unceremoniously raised, and then brought swiftly down — THWATT! squarely across the ripe rump.
‘Eeeooowwhh!!’ Angela’s yelp of agony was no way contrived. It really bloody stung! As it always did.
THWATT! A second awful stinger landed not far from the first line of impact. Another agonised yell and a frenzied writhing of bare buttocks.
THWATT! ‘Aaaoowwch!!’ The third was where Angela especially hated it — just below the lowest curve of her rump at the very top of her thighs. She wriggled and desperately clenched her buttocks in an attempt to dissipate the awful pain.
Mr Holroyd, eyes glinting and erection in full flower, waited for the girl to get still. He loved to get a girl’s bottom really wriggling, like a fat pale fish on a line.
THWATT! ‘Aaaooowww!!’ The fourth landed on the full fat undercurve and produced another bout of splendid bottom-writhing.
Another pause... and the cane again raised. THWATT!...
He gave her 12 in all. That was what he usually gave her — after the first couple of times of course when she was still learning to take it and he had restricted himself to six. In his experience 12 was what a girl was prepared to take once she’d got used to it. Twelve good hard ones. And if they were spread out that was the time it took for him to be ready to break off. To call the session to an abrupt halt as he exited to the bathroom to relieve his by now brimming arousal.
Angela, her bottom blazing from those 12 red stripes, was briskly told she could stand up and pull up her knickers. The first part of the ordeal was over. As Mr Holroyd went out she pulled the tight knickers up over her hot bottom, causing it to sting even more. She thought of Bryan... and bed. She would really feel like it when she got home, she always did, but she had never let on to Bryan. She was pretty sure he’d hate the thought of that, her getting turned on by Mr Holroyd’s cane. Although Bryan himself did of course.
She looked around the room, its activities hidden behind the heavy closed curtains. Jane came here on Fridays and got the same treatment. Jane also went to another man, Mr Warren, who wanted to have a go at Angela as well. But Mr Warren wasn’t content with just caning, he wanted something else afterwards. Angela couldn’t bring herself to agree to that, although Jane didn’t seem too bothered. She didn’t tell her husband of course. Not the truth.
Mr Holroyd was suddenly back looking a bit less intense than when he’d gone out. ‘Haven’t you started making the coffee, Miss Simmonds?’ he asked.
Angela should have known although he hadn’t specifically told her this time. Standing there dreaming, she had forgotten. She said ‘Sorry sir’ and went out to the kitchen. She was still Miss Simmonds because Mr Holroyd hadn’t finished yet. If things followed the normal routine there was still Punishment PT to come after the coffee. When, if things ran true to his quirky pattern, he would be addressing her as simply ‘Simmonds’.
Angela had never told Bryan about the Punishment PT. All he knew was that she got the cane and also the strap to a certain extent. Punishment PT in fact usually took up quite a lot of the two hours Angela was at Mr Holroyd’s and to account for all that time Angela said they sat and talked a bit. Well, Mr Holroyd obviously wouldn’t be caning her for two hours non-stop, or she wouldn’t be able to stand up afterwards. But she did not enjoy Punishment PT, which was why she didn’t tell Bryan about it.
And yes, it was to be the same routine tonight. As soon as Mr Holroyd had finished his coffee he said, ‘Right then, Miss. Punishment PT now!’
Angela knew what she had to do. Finishing her own coffee, she slipped off the high-heel shoes and stood up. Standing in front of him she took off the skirt again and also the tight white knickers. Once more she was in just blouse, suspender belt and nylons.
Mr Holroyd told her to get into position. Obediently Angela stood facing him a couple of feet from his chair, with her feet wide apart and her hands on her head. Mr Holroyd proceeded to give her another lecture, more lengthy this time, on her supposedly unladylike behaviour. As he sternly addressed her one of his hands failed to leave her alone...
Angela couldn’t imagine that schoolmasters ever really did this, although Jane said that at her school the games master had groped girls whenever he got the chance. But anyway in Mr Holroyd’s prelude to Punishment PT he always touched her while he spoke. As usual she simply tried to pretend he wasn’t doing it, looking straight ahead and doing her best to keep still. At last the lecture ended and the hand was taken away. It was time to start the actual Punishment PT.
He had a set routine of exercises and as usual she had to go through them all. On her back on the carpet cycling her legs in the air was always the first; while Mr Holroyd stood over you with that wicked two-tongued strap, whipping it out at bottom and thighs if you didn’t perform exactly to his requirements. The cycling was always pretty awful, not just because she could never do it to his satisfaction, but also because, with no knickers on, it was such a really awful position to be made to get into.
The cycling finally finished and then there were the others — deep knee bends; toe touching; running on the spot; high kicking. A nonstop routine which had Angela gasping for breath, punctuated at frequent intervals by sharp squeals as that strap snaked out. It was a performance which, as usual, Angela did not like one little bit. And which she would try very hard to screen out of her mind afterwards.
Mr Holroyd on the other hand found it highly arousing and it went on until he was again close to that brimming-over stage. Then the Punishment PT stopped, to be followed by a second caning session — four strokes this time — after which Mr Holroyd made another prompt exit. This time at least the evening’s activities were essentially over.
Back home Bryan was sitting on the settee watching the telly. In an artificially bright voice she said, ‘Hello — I’m back!’
Bryan didn’t answer. Angela went to sit next to him, forcing a kiss on him. ‘Bryan darling — I’m back! Don’t you love me?’
He pushed her away. ‘I don’t want you going to the bloody bloke anymore.’
Angela bit her lip. ‘Oh come on, Bryan — don’t be silly.’ She opened her handbag and took out the four £5 notes Mr Holroyd had given her for the evening. She handed them to Bryan but he simply threw them on the floor.
‘I’ve had enough of it! You’re not going there anymore and that’s final.’
Angela picked up the money and, red-faced, put it back in her purse. He was bad-tempered at times when she got back but never as bad as this. He seemed really mean tonight.
In bed a little later they had intercourse. Bryan couldn’t resist that in spite of his anger. When he had finished he got off her and lay on his back. Still breathing heavily he said, ‘Promise you won’t go there anymore.’
There was a silence and then in a quiet voice she said, ‘OK. If that’s what you want.’
She would promise but she didn’t mean it. She would just have to go in the afternoon when Bryan was at work. It wasn’t only the £20, she had got to be really aroused by it — exposing her bottom for Mr Holroyd and then that feeling of dread and excitement as she waited for the cane to land. Even the Punishment PT, which she wouldn’t think about — well, especially that, really... the fact that she hated it yet he made her do it, that was what did it for her, made her tummy turn over.
That wasn’t all. Just before she’d left Mr Holroyd tonight he had again said that Mr Warren was very keen to see her. She had hesitated and then finally, this time, said OK, she would see him.
She had agreed to go round to his house tomorrow afternoon. Mr Warren was younger than Mr Holroyd, in his forties, Jane said. And he was very dominant. Lying there next to Bryan and looking up at the ceiling, Angela shivered.
‘So no more visits,’ repeated Bryan. ‘We don’t need that bloody money.’
‘OK,’ she said. And then her hand reached out and her lips closed in, needing him again. So urgently.