Part 2 – Jilly Waistrose
The worst thing about being Jilly Waistrose — and getting punished for it — is that the girl is beautiful. Too beautiful, with that slim and sexy body, for men to be able to keep their hands off her for very long and, it goes without saying, at an appalling disadvantage when physical punishments are to be administered by members of the opposite sex. One would have to be a saint to restrain oneself and this supernatural status is not, thank God, required of Moral Welfare Officers. The second-worst thing is that Jilly has always been blessed with the fairest and most sensitive skin — exceptionally sensitive. She has never been spanked, because it would not be fair. The blessing is that the softest and most delicate lover’s caress will have electrifying consequences. And it is hard to imagine a man who would not want to caress her extensively…
For Jilly also this is her first appointment with the Moral Welfare Officer, although she has been advised what is likely to happen, which is why she looks so glum. One reason for her attendance has already been alluded to indirectly. Under new law, Jilly’s single relatively-minor offence was sufficient to bring her to the attention of the Moral Welfare Service: a matter of evading paying her full fare on public transport. But when officials of the newly created department were ordered to investigate her lifestyle, they found that Jilly seemed to be over-fond of sex. She had too many boyfriends and one-night-stands. The report to the Moral Welfare Officer sounded bad: ‘Promiscuity’ and ‘Sexual Immorality’ were listed among her itemized faults and failings. There was even the suggestion that, as a randy amateur, she lived off men…
Positive vetting, moreover, had resulted in the investigating officer being teased almost out of his mind — but finally rejected, a number of expensive restaurant meals later, as an unwanted and unnecessary admirer. ‘That’s my trouble — every man wants me, and you’re no different,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Sorry.’ His astronomical expenses claim had been queried at the highest level, and the official concerned transferred to less stressful and frustrating work.
It is evidently high time for Jilly Waistrose to be taught a lesson she’ll never forget — as the representative of a modern type of girl whose motivation and behaviour is wholly at odds with the credos of the Moral Welfare Service.
And so the waiting begins. And time really drags, the bare wooden form feeling harder by the minute under Jilly’s small and slender bum. She starts to feel truly sorry for herself.
Two hours tick past. Her nerves are stretched as taut as bowstrings. She’s terribly afraid of what’s about to happen to her…
The doctor appears! What a horrible creep, she thinks. He makes her turn around and bend down, and then he rudely rubs her between her legs through her tighter-than-tight drainpipe jeans.
‘So this is the cause of your trouble, is it?’ he booms, his insistent fingers poking her forcefully where he certainly shouldn’t, making her jerk and squirm. Oh, it’s just awful! And she’s not even wearing knickers under her jeans, she’s so accustomed to showing off the whole shape of her bottom. And a very lovely bottom it is too, as the doctor discovers when he grips it firmly in his left hand, his other hand grasping her neck like a chicken.
‘Yes, sir…’ she manages to stammer, knowing that to contradict such an all-powerful official could have atrocious consequences.
‘Hmm, it’s as serious as that, is it?’ Dr Matthew Handley groans. ‘Well, the Moral Welfare Officer will know how to deal with your problem. Now, I’d better take a good look at you, to make sure all is well.’ He pulls her top out from under the belt behind her and raises it, sounding her back. It’s rare for Dr Handley’s hands to tremble during an examination, but they are none too steady when he repeats this process with the front of her vest. Jilly, who knows men very well, understands what is happening when he stares at her breasts.
Then, again, her neck is in a vice-hold and the doctor is manually examining her breasts. He’s not touching them the way she’d expect a doctor to, he’s taking liberties, she’s sure, and she doesn’t like the look on his face at all. He’s being rough and he’s hurting her ultra-sensitive nipples; he’s too worked up to carry out a proper examination, and as one girl who really does know her worth to men, she doesn’t like the way he’s casually groping her, and heavily breathing sadistic comments about her coming punishment Only the cold steel of the stethoscope justifies his gross interference with her, but listening to her heartbeat is every bit as stimulating for him — it sounds as if she’s just run a mile. ‘No, please don’t!’ she whines, and for the first time she feels a glimmer of liking for him, because he stops and lets her vest drop.
The doctor now sits on the bench beside her, makes her stand erect, and unfastens her belt She spontaneously feels a little bit sexy as he begins to lower her jeans, she likes to passively have them taken off by a man, but this time is not like any other. Jilly squirms with distaste as his fingers rub her belly and he says callously that he knows all about girls who don’t wear any knickers. ‘We may have got hold of you just in the nick of time.’ Then a new moment of truth arrives, as, with some difficulty, he forces her very tight jeans down below her knees and orders her to lift up her top simultaneously. Most of Jilly’s exquisite torso is now bared, and the doctor is most pleasantly shocked by her beauty. But Jilly is suffering a torment of embarrassment and shame, feeling his hands roam, his eyes burn her skin, her mind flashing with all the symbols for sex but obsessed with the fact that this is not voluntary, this is not a man she would allow to make love to her or take advantage of her like this, and that what’s happening is the preliminary not to love-making but to punishment… punishment!
The medical examination is a punishment in itself for sensitive, distraught Jilly Waistrose. How can she help feeling sexy when the doctor caresses her body blatantly, intimately, but not in a friendly fashion, sometimes hurting her — mixing her up inside, whisking her emotions up into a disturbingly frothy cocktail of fear, horror, and involuntary eroticism. He pays enormous attention to her very sensitive, erogenous bottom — examining it closely from all angles, with legs parted, legs together, stroking and squeezing the cheeks, even pinching them to assess their responsiveness. Jilly really hates it, and perhaps she hates it most of all because she has no defence, either outwardly or inwardly, against what he is doing to her. Indeed the only straw she can clutch on to, fighting against her disgust and against getting turned on, is her delight as a born prick-teaser in her own female power: the fact that the doctor is now sweating with lust for her, but won’t be able to have her. She vindictively hopes his frustration will last him the rest of his life — male sexual frustration being, of course, the number one power counter she holds.
And then at last, just when she was beginning to believe it would never happen, her examination is over and a very upset Jilly is being marched by the scruff of her neck towards the Moral Welfare Officer, who looks pleased as punch to see her. There could be no meaner preparation for corporal punishment, she thinks, than what she has just been put through. Yet after what has happened, were it not for her terror, she could almost fancy the Moral Welfare Officer — almost. She would not be the first or the last to want to bribe him with her body — most of them hint at such a proposal, as discreetly as possible.
‘Ah, Jilly Waistrose, I believe,’ the Moral Welfare Officer says. ‘A sexual offender, I’m told.’
‘She can’t get enough of it!’ Dr Matthew Handley says jocularly. ‘By the way, she has a particularly sensitive bottom.’
‘All the better for her to feel her punishment then,’ the Moral Welfare Officer beams. ‘I have no brief for harlots.’
‘I’m not a harlot!’ Jilly protests in anguish. ‘I’m a perfectly ordinary girl — I’m normal!’ She almost shouts, so indignant does she feel; her face is beetroot red from the two officials’ bantering exchange about her most intimate habits, and not for the first time today she feels an urgent wish to cry… but no, she won’t let them… won’t let them… won’t let them… have that satisfaction.
‘GET UP ON THE PUNISHMENT BENCH, TROLLOP!’ the Moral Welfare Officer roars. ‘THRUST YOUR BOTTOM OUT! We’ll see if this strap can make your little backside tingle —and not in the way you like it to tingle, GIRL!’
It really was a most charming and affecting sight, and if the forthright M.W.O. and the hovering doctor both now had erections that was their own business and nothing to do with their silken-skinned culprit. In any case, she has been banned from having sex for the duration of her Moral Welfare Supervision Order.
The hand goes up, and the strap swishes down with a cracking sound over Jilly’s very tightly-jeaned rump. The stretched fabric seems to provide no protection, for the two tails of the leather tawse set her bum ablaze with such a ferocious smarting sting she gasps out loud. Immediately, the Officer gives her another stroke, and then one more. It feels to Jilly as if her bottom is being attacked by stinging bees, and does she squeal!!!
‘NOW GET OFF THE BENCH! AND GET YOUR JEANS OFF, JILLY! KNEEL ON THE FLOOR, PUT YOUR ARMS ON THE BENCH!’ Jilly scrambles to obey him, obsequiously, but not without a certain whimpering that both men find profoundly moving. As soon as she’s in position the Moral Welfare Officer takes up one of his three canes and taps her deliciously pretty bottom with it.
‘Oh no, sir! Please, sir! Not the cane, sir! I couldn’t take it!’ Jilly pleads, still whining.
‘NONSENSE, GIRL! HOW ON EARTH ARE YOU GOING TO BE REFORMED WITHOUT THE BAMBOO ACROSS YOUR BARE BOTTOM TO HELP YOU?’
‘Please sir! Please sir! No, sir! Not hard, sir!’ she pleads desperately as the M.W.O. strokes her bare arse with the swishy rod.
My! she really does sound frightened, he thinks with pleasure. Bearing in mind the Medical Officer’s advice about her posterial super-sensitivity, he stands towering above her, raises the cane above his head — and delivers a single medium-light cut to her bottom in this posture. It’s beautiful to watch the lithe, flexible rod curve around to accommodate itself to the shape of her buttocks… and to watch her writhing response. It’s obvious that that one hurt her more than harder strokes would pain most girls. So, before proceeding further, he orders Jilly to stand up facing him, and taps the insides of her thighs to make her assume exactly the stance he requires of her… and then lectures her sternly on the errors of her immoral ways.
At length, her face flushed and smarting from this more-than-embarrassing telling-off she’s ordered to bend over and grasp her calves for some more strokes of the cane. It’s marvellous how she responds to being caned, but the M.W.O. also finds a sheer joy in ordering the girl around, making her take up posture after position for further, less moderate cane strokes. Never before has he felt in such complete charge of a girl, never before has he had such a beautiful girl at his mercy, or one who found being caned quite so difficult and painful. It must be something to do with an extra supply of nerves to her posteriors, as Matthew inferred. The Moral Welfare Officer, for whom there could be nothing as boring on earth as a stoical girl, considers her heaven-sent for his unique benefit He has now virtually forgotten her moral offences, because whatever she did wrong can’t possibly compare with what’s in his mind now. If only Moral Welfare Officers possessed truly limitless powers, not just the right to punish! WHACKKK! — Gosh, that one was hard! The girl’s shrieking. Should he really have whipped it down like that? Does it matter?
It’s no good, he’s not going to be able to see this one off without first giving her a good old-fashioned spanking over his knee. Does the doctor agree? Of course he does! Why, Dr Matthew Handley is beaming! Poor Jilly looks so sad and upset and disturbed; how wonderful to think of the sting in her tail — all his own work! Be kind to her now, he decides. After all, there’s no need to crucify the girl.
The Moral Welfare Officer positions himself like the maestro he is, seating himself on the bench. ‘Come on, my dear,’ he addresses the sobbing beauty gently. ‘Over my knee. We can’t let you go away without spanking your bottom properly, can we now?’
Jilly is obviously determined not to aggravate the Officer, she doesn’t want to make her plight even worse than it is. She humbly stretches out over the Moral Welfare Officer’s lap, biting her lip hard as his hands roam. Well, she shouldn’t be so pretty, should she? It’s all her own fault. He caresses her bottom marks gingerly, and discovers they are red-hot.
And then he spanks her bare bottom with his hand, and not softly either. It’s a two-fold punishment because, first of all, she feels so utterly humiliated being put over a man’s knee like a naughty young teenager. But secondly, and now more seriously, swamping her first feeling, there’s the hard rhythmic slap of his palm stinging her bottom to blazes and fanning all those cane-marks into flesh-flames.
The Moral Welfare Officer just loves spanking this beautiful bottom, and pretty soon there’s the sweet satisfaction of hearing Jilly Waistrose, prick-teaser to the core, crying like a punished infant, all that promiscuous adult immorality driven out of her as she’s regressed to a more innocent version of herself. However, it wouldn’t be fair to send her back out into the world stripped of a realistic, if chastened, awareness of her female charms. The doctor’s concluding examination will see to that, and the Moral Welfare Officer knows in his bones, as he polishes off the crisp spanking with his wrist as limp as a rag, that this is one occasion when Dr Matthew Handley will need a little assistance from him. Poor Jilly! Our hearts go out to her.