Final part of a three-parter from Whispers 4
Susan looked in the window. Mr Wilmot and this friend of his, Mr Cuthbert. She couldn’t be seen because it was quite dark. She shivered; not that it was all that cold — a mild September evening. But she didn’t have much on: only her vest. Well, her knee-socks and shoes as well to be precise but that didn’t make much difference. What counted was that she only had her vest: no bra, not now Mr Wilmot had confiscated them for the whole of her stay, and also no knickers or skirt either.
She pulled her vest down in front — not really because she was cold but, well, modesty. Not that anyone could see her, there were no houses overlooking Mr Wilmot’s garden. But she wasn’t used to going about with her bottom and her pussy bare. At least she wasn’t before coming to Mr Wilmot’s the day before yesterday. But then there were other things she wasn’t used to. That dreadful cellar — and the cane.
That caning yesterday had been quite horrendous. Susan hadn’t had it yet today but she knew she was going to get it when this Mr Cuthbert left. That was why she was in only her vest.
Mr Wilmot had been going to cane her but then his friend had arrived. He had just made her take everything off except the vest and was getting ready to use the cane because he said her day’s performance warranted it. Piano practice and reading this book that Mr Wilmot gave her and having to answer questions on it afterwards. She had also had to help Mrs Milligan, his housekeeper, with washing up and stuff like that. Susan had done all this a bit more industriously than she ever had at home for her mother simply because she was aware of the penalties here with Mr Wilmot. But nonetheless he had said that Susan deserved a caning at the end of the day.
But then Mr Cuthbert’s car had appeared up the driveway and as Mr Wilmot had some business or other to discuss with him he said why didn’t she go outside and play for a little while. Susan had said could she put her clothes back on but Mr Wilmot said not to bother as it was warm enough outside and anyway she’d only have to take them off again. Mr Wilmot said it was warm but nonetheless he had a fire going in the grate in his study.
Susan shivered and pulled her vest down again. It wasn’t really cold but it was scary being outside in just your vest. What if someone came in the garden — a boy or maybe a tramp? Some dirty old tramp who would say: ‘Ah, here’s something nice and tasty, a young girl in only a vest.’ And grab her before she could shout. And push her down on her back on the damp grass. And then you know what of course. Push her legs apart...
Angela at school had that done, or so she said. When she was visiting her gran. Some girls said Angela made the story up just for a thrill but — that sort of thing did happen. Or what about... a rat.
Susan gave a little yelp as the thought came. Rats in that awful cellar right below her feet. Pitch black and full of rats. She had hardly been able to get to sleep thinking about it last night in bed. The cellar and then even thinking that a rat could get in her bedroom. Scurrying along the floor and then up under the bedclothes. The foot of the bed and then stealthily creep its way up — searching for what Amanda said they went for...
Susan had closed her legs tight and pulled her nightie down. And also put her hand over her pussy. It was really stupid, she knew, but she couldn’t help doing it.
Suddenly, inside the house, Mr Wilmot was getting up. Walking towards the window, towards Susan. She ducked back. He was opening it.
She said a frightened ‘yes’ and Mr Wilmot said would she come in and meet Mr Cuthbert. She whispered that she hadn’t any clothes on (perhaps Mr Wilmot had forgotten) but he said not to worry about that, he wanted to meet her.
Oh God. The thought of being in front of two men in just her vest was — well, twice as bad as with one. Susan knocked tentatively at the study door. She went in, one hand stretching her vest down in front of her. She could just about stretch it as far as her pussy but that meant it was stretched really tight over her boobs making her nipples stick out. Oh God.
‘Don’t do that,’ Mr Wilmot said. ‘You’ll stretch your vest out of shape.’ So Susan had to let go of it and display her pussy. This man Cuthbert was looking at it all right. He was about Mr Wilmot’s age with glasses.
He got up from his chair. ‘My, she is a pretty girl.’
Mr Wilmot said, ‘Yes, and pretty girls of course need the most discipline. They’ve got the boys after them all the time. Susan’s got a boyfriend and I’m afraid she spends a lot of time mooning about thinking about him. That’s why she has to have the cane — which is why she hasn’t got her skirt and knickers on.’
Mr Cuthbert said, ‘I see. Well, I hope you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t, Susan. It’s a big temptation for a pretty girl to start having intercourse but it’s not at all a good idea at your age. Once she starts a girl can get a craving for it and think of nothing else and then of course her studies really go to pot.’
Susan felt her face burning. It was bad enough having Mr Wilmot talk about things like that, which he did, but standing before two of them and showing her pussy like this and with Mr Cuthbert talking about having intercourse was like some kind of Chinese torture.
It seemed Mr Cuthbert was determined to embarrass her even further. ‘You don’t, do you, Susan? You haven’t started doing it?’
Susan shook her head. Mr Wilmot had asked the same question and she had told him No as well. It was true, though she had thought about it. Some girls at school of course had done it and said it was really super. She gave a sudden hissing gasp. Mr Cuthbert’s hand had come out and simply taken hold of her pussy, cupping it.
‘Very sensible,’ he said. ‘That sort of thing should be kept until you’re married.’
The hand squeezed her pussy, making her tremble all over, then mercifully he let go. Mr Cuthbert said he had better be on his way and let Mr Wilmot get on with what he had to do.
‘Deal with this,’ he chuckled and this time his hand came round behind and jiggled Susan’s bottom.
He squeezed her bottom and then the two men moved towards the door. At least he wasn’t going to stay and watch her get caned. As they went out Susan heard Mr Cuthbert say why didn’t Mr Wilmot bring her round to his place one afternoon; and Mr Wilmot said he would.
Susan heard, ‘I mean, if she needs any extra disciplining…’ Both men laughed.
Mr Wilmot came back in. ‘Right, young lady. Now back to our little business which was so abruptly interrupted. Ready for the cane, are we?’
Mr Wilmot, it turned out, had thought up a special fiendish trick. He produced a hand bell. ‘What d’you think of this, my dear?’ he asked, tinkling it. Susan didn’t think anything of it — but then she had no idea what he planned to do with it. Not yet.
He proceeded to tie it on her, with a piece of rough twine; the twine round her waist and the bell dangling down behind just below her bottom. It was Mr Wilmot’s idea to keep Susan still while she was being caned. Last time she had wriggled her bottom too much and that wasn’t disciplined behaviour. Now, he said, he wanted her to keep still enough so that the bell didn’t ring. If it did — extra whacks of course.
Having that bell tied on her, like a goat or something in a field, really made Susan feel awful. But very shortly she was feeling a lot worse as, bending forward in front of the fire as instructed by Mr Wilmot, the cane sliced in. Susan yelled out and also the bell rang out because she just couldn’t keep her bottom still.
‘You’ll have to do better than that, my girl. That’s an extra one already.’
Susan was already crying by the time the second had landed. Hot tears of pain and also of simply feeling sorry for herself. She thought desperately: I’ll phone mother and tell her. But Susan knew she couldn’t because her mother had gone away for the two weeks and also she wanted Susan to be disciplined.
‘Aaaooowww!!’ she yelped. But this time with a super-human effort managed to prevent the bell ringing. Mr Wilmot was a monster, a sadist. That cane... was killing her. But at least...
It finally stopped. Susan didn’t know how many she’d had — it felt like a hundred. Sometimes the bell had rung and sometimes not. Mr Wilmot put his arms round her, holding her close. One hand jiggled her burning bum, making the bell ring.
‘That’s it then, Susan dear; all over for the moment.’ His voice in her ear was soft and gentle, not at all the voice of a man who could viciously cane you, who could threaten you with black cellars and rats. Susan trembled, still sobbing. The cane was dreadful, but that cellar.
Maybe she shouldn’t have thought about that horror. His soft voice continued. ‘We still haven’t had you down in the cellar for a spell, have we?’
‘No’ she gasped. ‘No, No!’
Mr Wilmot made a ‘Mmmm’ sound. As if he was considering it. Two hands now playing with her red-hot bum, jiggling the cheeks, making the bell jangle.