From Uniform Girls 9
From the very start of that weekend, Doris has sensed trouble. Mr and Mrs Banbury — the Master and Mistress at Croft Place — had gone off to some seaside resort for a couple of days (getting very fashionable that was, with the gentry) and so the ‘Young Master’ was in charge. Not that he was exactly young any more; him sporting a beard, smoking and putting on all sorts of airs and graces. Yet it did not seem all that long ago he was coming during the school holidays. Even in those days, when she’d been about 16 herself, she’d been wary of him.
The way she saw him looking at her sometimes. Hot-eyed. But she’d dare not be rude or cheeky to him; that could easily lose her her position. And Doris did not want to end up being dismissed without a reference and find herself on the streets. Once, in the conservatory, she remembered, he’d pinched her bottom. She’d almost slapped his face but just stopped herself in time. If he’d told Mama about that, she’d certainly have been for the high jump. Because Mama doted on her son, Robert; in her eyes he could do no wrong.
Of course, she wasn’t alone in the house with the ‘Young Master’. There were two gardeners who occupied an annexe, and there was Cook. The first two were never allowed in the house proper and Cook was definitely not on her side. She had always considered her lazy, flighty even, which wasn’t fair. Doris knew she worked hard and well, better than many other domestics did. So it was no use running to Cook. I might as well be alone in this house with him, thought Doris.
The idea frightened her.
Now she stood looking at herself in the long, swivel mirror set to one side of the dressing room, where he had sent her. She saw the familiar long, black dress; the long white apron; the maid’s frilly white cap with its two tassels dangling down the back. Doris did not consider these symbols of servitude. They were just the normal uniform for one in her position. She was so used to them that she would have felt strange to look upon herself wearing anything else. Domestic Service was as natural as breathing to her. It was her way of life; she accepted it.
‘Draw the curtains, Doris,’ he had said, going across yet again to pour himself some amber liquid from a heavy cut-glass decanter. She wondered if he were not getting a little tipsy. Why had he said that, she wondered, heart beating a little faster? All the same, she did as she had been told, then wandered aimlessly about the small, well-furnished room, always ending up in front of that mirror again. I am not a bad-looking young woman, she thought. If I were a lady, I could easily have married someone who owned a house like Croft Place. But there was no hope of that, she knew. Everyone to their proper station.
Perhaps he won’t come after all, she thought with sudden hope. Perhaps he’ll get properly drunk — and forget. It was just possible. An idea to hang on to anyway.
On the other hand, how could he forget an incident like that?
This time, some six years on, Doris had slapped his face. Slapped it hard, feeling the coarseness of beard bristles. She had been stretching up, using a long feather duster, when it had happened. He must have crept silently into the drawing room… seen her there… and acted on impulse. Lecherous impulse. It was not like in the conservatory when he had pinched her, this time he gripped and mauled a whole buttock-cheek.
‘You’ve grown up a lot since I last did that,’ he said in a thick voice.
Startled, as much as anything, by this sudden, silent assault, Doris had swung round and struck out wildly. Yet hitting the target. It was a perfectly natural reaction for any young woman. The ‘Young Master’ had reeled back, looking as startled as Doris felt. How dare a servant strike one of the upper class, his eyes seemed to say?
Getting over the first shock, Doris was already regretting her action. It was an unforgiveable thing to have done. Yet it had been purely instinctive.
‘It… it… wasn’t right of… of you, sir…’ she said in a low voice. ‘Not… not decent like…’
‘And, I suppose, Doris,’ he said icily, ‘you consider your action was justified?’
Doris shook her head. ‘I didn’t m-mean it, sir. It just, somehow, happened.’ He was pouring himself more of that amber and beginning to look rather pleased with himself, nodding his head from time to time.
‘This cannot be overlooked, Doris,’ he said at last.
‘Don’t interrupt, girl!’ An admonitory hand was raised. ‘Girl’! There was an insult for you; she was a young woman. Still, Doris did not protest. ‘Go up to the dressing room on the second floor, Doris,’ he continued, ‘and await me there. Draw the curtains, Doris.’
So she had gone. Now she was awaiting his arrival. Awaiting it with ever-growing tightening of the nerves. If he reported this to Mama on her return, she would be finished. What else then? What did he intend? Doris paced restlessly to and fro, skirt rustling gently. Alternately she felt hot and cold, her head airily light. Everything was rather unreal.
Oh, when would he come?
If he were coming…
The door opened abruptly. No knock. And Doris saw at once that Robert had now indeed taken too much to drink and was grinning stupidly. On his head he had perched his old school boater. It made him look quite ridiculous; but no less frightening.
‘Jolly boating weather,’ he sang to himself as he closed the door. Then locked it. ‘Or, should we not say jolly spanking weather, eh Doris?’
Doris felt as if a chill wind was blowing through her. She knew in that instant what the ‘Young Master’ intended. It scarcely seemed possible. Not at her age — however lowly her domestic status might be.
‘I… I don’t understand, sir…’ she began.
‘Oh, I think you do, Doris. Oh yes, I think you do! Parlour maid strikes the son of the Master of the House. Not going to get away with that, is she?’
‘I… I had… reasons…’ pouted Doris. Fear was steadily mounting within her. ‘You shouldn’t have…’
‘Reasons don’t come into it, girl,’ replied Robert, icy again. ‘You know Mama wouldn’t listen to them. You’d be out. Out! Then where would you be? On the streets. In a workhouse. You wouldn’t get another job with a bad reference, now would you?’
He was right, of course. Doris knew it. She was in a real cleft stick. ‘What do you mean to do then?’ she asked nervously.
She saw him smile at that. Wickedly. ‘As I say, I think you already know, Doris. But, if you like, I’ll tell you. I’m going to spank you. Spank you on your bare bottom!’
‘O-oohhh… ooohhh!’ It was a cry of genuine disbelief. Not only on account of the spanking but, even worse, about her being ‘bare’. Oh the shame of it! This was terrible… terrible! Oh, what could she do?
‘After that,’ said Robert, ‘we’ll forget all about that little incident in the drawing room… and you can keep your place here.’ He paused and looked at her sternly. ‘You know the alternative, Doris.’
Doris did… and burst into tears.
After a little while, she dabbed her eyes with her apron and managed to stop crying. Perhaps it wouldn’t be all that bad. Wouldn’t last long anyway. What’s more, no one else would ever know. Better than the workhouse, wasn’t it? Doris summoned her courage. Best get it over with. She looked up. ‘A-alright…’ she whispered.
‘Sensible girl,’ he said, looking smugly pleased. He staggered a little as he pulled a small upright chair towards him and seated himself. Still he wore that absurd hat. A reminder of his schooldays… and his schoolboy dreams? About her? ‘First of all, you will remove your drawers.’
Colour mounted steadily in Doris’s cheeks as she tugged up her long skirt. She untied the lace of her long, white drawers. Frilly, knee-length drawers. She cast a quick glance on him and saw a leering twist of the lips. Oh the beast! Then she bent her head and let the drawers drop, stepping from them. It felt strange to be naked under the skirt. Now she wore nothing but corset-suspenders supporting her stockings. She looked up again and saw him crooking a finger at her.
‘Come over here, my pretty serving wench,’ he ordered, voice thick again. For how long had he wanted to do this, Doris wondered? Maybe ever since he’d been a boy. It was horrible to think about. She felt rather sick as she moved across the room towards him. ‘Oh, by the way, Doris,’ he said, grinning again, ‘I’ve given Cook the afternoon off… and Arthur and George are down in the orchard.’ That, Doris knew, was half-a-mile away. ‘So no one will hear…’
Then he made a grab for her and, the next moment, she was being pulled over his knees. She could hear his breath rasping. Panic seized her. It was happening… it was happening! Struggling, she began to cry out, but he had too firm a grip on her. There was no way she could break loose. Then the awful, shaming moment came. Her skirt was pulled up high, the whole of her hindquarters nakedly exposed. Oh, the utter immodesty of it! The vile indecency! She, a grown woman, unmarried… in this position! Desperately, Doris pressed her thighs together. She felt her face scarlet and felt the cheeks of her bottom must be blushing too.
Horror upon horror! Now he was squeezing the cheeks of her bare bottom!
‘Stoo…opp it… sttooo…oopppp it!’ she shrieked. ‘You mustn’t!’
Above her, the ‘Young Master’ just laughed tipsily… and went on squeezing and fondling. Doris struggled even more furiously, kicking out (no longer caring about modesty), but all in vain. He had a vice-like hold on her. She was helpless. Half-hysterically, she began to shriek for help. Then she heard him laughing. ‘Yell as loud as you like,’ he said. ‘I told you; no one will hear.’
Then he began to smack her bottom.
First one cheek, then the other. They were hard slaps, but not unbearably hard. Stinging but not blazing. All the same, Doris gasped and yelped loudly. She was quite unaccustomed to such pain. It was a pain which was intensified by the sheer indignity of the fact that it was being done by a virile man of about her own age.
‘Ahh… that’s enough… enough!’
She’d had about a dozen, but it felt like far more. He was laughing again. ‘Enough! Silly girl… I’ve only just begun on you. You’ll have a backside as warm as new toast before I’ve done with you!’
‘Ohhh… owww… oohhh… no no… oooww.’ The breathless, gasping cries grew louder. As did Robert’s panting. Doris was right that he had dreamt about doing this for years; often masturbated about it. Now he was actually doing it! And the reality was far better than any dreams.
Such a luscious, swelling bottom. A truly womanly bottom. How red it was getting under his repeated slaps! It had a softness, yet a springy resilience. His hand flattened the flesh, then sprang away. Delightful! And there was not only the feel of it. There was the sight and sound of it. A bottom that bounced and twisted at each stinging impact, setting that soft flesh quivering uncontrollably. Those legs kicking and splaying, revealing downy intimacies he had also dreamt about. Wonderful. Yes… far better than even imagination had made it. Then, too, were her gasps and cries of pain; interspersed with pitiful pleas for him to cease. Quite enchanting! In the circles in which he moved, girls and ladies did not plead. They were haughty and arrogant. Dictatorial. How marvellous then, to have such a reversal of the situation. To have one quite at one’s mercy.
Robert felt his palm glowing hot; but knew that jiggling bottom must be glowing hotter still. For the flesh of a young woman’s bottom is far more tender than the skin of a man’s palm. That was nice to know. All the same, it occurred to Robert that it might have been better to have used a ruler or a slipper. Then he could have gone on longer, without having this almost intolerable burning of his hand. Still, enthusiasm — and lust — enabled him to overcome any such temporary inconvenience.
He began to smack Doris’s bright red bottom even harder… now smacking across the centre of both cheeks rather than dealing with them alternately. The girl now, understandably, began to scream as well as gasp and yelp. Luckily he had been wise enough to send the other servants off. She was beginning to feel real pain. Cruel satisfaction flared up in Robert. This was what he had wanted to do ever since he could remember.
‘Merceee… merceeee… no more please.’
Still Robert smacked. And smacked and smacked.
Harder! Harder! Harder still!
Just as hard as he could…
Until he was quite out of breath, his own head spinning with his exertions, his right hand so hot it felt as if a coal had been placed upon it.
Until he could go on no longer.
Doris, he suddenly realised, was no longer squirming and struggling. Nor screaming. She was simply moaning, half-insensible with pain and exhaustion.
Once again Doris wandered restlessly about the dressing room. Now, however, her restlessness was rooted differently. It was not caused by anxiety and trying to anticipate the unknown, but by the incessant burning and throbbing of her tormented buttock-cheeks. Never, never, had she imagined he would treat her so vilely. With such callous cruelty. The injustice of it was bitter. She had slapped him once (justifiably) and he must have slapped her a hundred times (unjustifiably). At least, it felt like a hundred times. How could a so-called ‘gentleman’ deal with a helpless young woman in such a fashion? If Doris had known of the word ‘sadist’, she would have used it.
Time and again, she returned to that tall swivel mirror, lifted her skirt and examined herself. The whole of her bottom and the tops of her thighs, were an astonishing hue. Pink… red… almost purple in places. How long, she wondered, would it take to disappear? She thought of what she had heard about how girls were treated in reform schools. They were caned there. Birched even. That must be far worse. Not that that was very much comfort to her at that moment.
Burning… burning… burning. Oh, if only she had something cold to put upon it. Then an idea came to her. She pressed her behind to the coldness of the mirror. Oh relief! But for so short a time. The heat in her flesh soon warmed up the cold mirror and thus became of no value. If only I had some cold water, she thought. But the door was locked. He had locked it when he left. ‘You will stay here until you have regained some composure,’ he had said.
How long would that be she wondered?
Still, at least it was over now. And she still had her position. Nothing would be said. However, forming in her mind, was a little cloud, ‘no bigger than a man’s hand’. What, she considered uneasily, if the ‘Young Master’ should assault her again? What then?
Should she defend herself? Attack him again? Risk certain dismissal? Or another cruel spanking? Life, it seemed to her, had suddenly become exceedingly hazardous.
Similar thoughts, from a different angle, were passing through the ‘Young Master’s’ mind as he continued to help himself liberally from the whisky decanter. He rubbed his right palm ruefully. It had been a marvellous afternoon. A unique experience.
But why should that be the end of it?
Robert Banbury was just beginning to realise what power he had over this most attractive young domestic. If he fondled her in future, surely she would not dare to strike again? If he went even further, would she dare then? It was, he considered, highly unlikely. Especially in view of the very severe spanking he had given her. That had been sensible. If he had been half-hearted about it, he would have had nowhere near such a hold over her. The key was that the poor wretch desperately wanted to retain her position, pitiful as it was. He brooded; he mused. Gradually, the future began to take on a rosier and rosier hue. Of course, he would have to be more careful when Mama and Papa were around. But there could be ways and means. The stables were a fair way from the house. They would make an ideal place for ‘sport’. Of one kind or another. Robert thought of all he had seen that afternoon. That luscious nakedness; those feminine secrets. Such delights were not easily set aside.
Nor would they, he resolved. In a few hours’ time, he would go and see the young woman. Maybe she would understand the new situation. And accept it.
Doris, emotionally and physically tired, had finally fallen asleep. Face down on a couch. She had kept her skirt up and her knickers off, because the air was cool upon her flesh. It was in this state that Robert found her when he unlocked the door late that evening.
How beautiful, he thought! How innocent, in a kind of way! How much more enjoyable to possess such complaisant flesh than that of some demanding debutante bitch. He moved silently across the room, seated himself on the couch edge and — very gently — began to caress the still-glowing flesh. He thought he heard a sigh of contentment.
Would she, when she awoke, fully understand? As a sensible girl, she almost certainly would, thought Robert.