Search This Blog

Wednesday, 4 April 2018


By James Kenway from Janus 28
Gazing down from behind the glass I could see the girl crossing the patio below, hips swinging above the tapping high heels, the blonde mop topping the lot. It would take her a couple of minutes to come up in the lift, sway along the corridor and let herself in. I sat behind my desk, chair angled so that I faced the door. I wanted her to see me as soon as she entered. I had a few very serious words to say to this young lady and I wanted the psychological advantage of catching her by surprise. I glanced around my cluttered and untidy office with distaste. The place was scattered with overflowing ashtrays and half-filled stale coffee cups. File drawers were half open and papers higgledy-piggledy everywhere. What on earth did the girl do all day?
I heard the lift chunk to a stop and the tap of her heels in the corridor. Even without that giveaway sound I would have been sure it was her. Mine was the only office perched up here, on the top of this old, converted building. It had a nice view: it was not overlooked. Waiting for her to arrive, I had been watching the river traffic on the Thames.
Her key ground in the lock. Humming the latest disco tune, she backed into the room, her arms full of her handbag and a half-a-dozen glossy magazines, slamming the door closed behind her with a deft shove of her tightly-sheathed hip. Turning, she saw me. Her jaw dropped and she started to stammer.
‘Oh, er, um, Mr G-G-Glenn! W-w-what are you doing here?’
‘It is my office,’ I said. ‘I do pay the rent. It is where you’re supposed to work. Where you’re supposed to be, incidentally, from nine o’clock onwards, just in case one of those quaint old-fashioned creatures called clients — you know, the things that produce salaries? — rings up wanting some service. Although looking around here, it doesn’t look as though there’s much in the way of service to be had around this dump.’
‘Ah, well, yes,’ said Pauline, moving across to her own desk and depositing her armload of literature. ‘I can explain that. You see, I wasn’t expecting you —’
‘Oh really?’ I said, sarcastically. She blushed.
‘What I mean is, really, um, I thought you’d be abroad for another week.’ She ran a hand nervously through the mop of blonde hair and sat gingerly down on the edge of her desk hiking one haunch up onto the polished surface. The tight black skirt uncovered one dimpled knee.
‘I would have been,’ I answered. ‘Oh, I would have been. Over there, drumming up business like a good ‘un, if it weren’t for the fact that my bank manager contacted me to tell me that he was terminating my credit facilities.’
Pauline’s high cheekbones suffused with sudden scarlet. ‘Oh, he didn’t did he? The mean old sod! What did he do that for?’
‘Oh come off it, Pauline,’ I snapped, standing up suddenly. ‘I’ve had a look around. I’ve looked at the files. I’ve seen the invoices that haven’t been dealt with, the bills that haven’t been sent out, mail from as long ago as last Monday left unopened, let alone dealt with, and, worst of the lot, this!’ My voice had, by now, risen almost to a shout. I held the bundle of cheques, made out to my company’s name, up in a white-knuckled fist.
‘Oh dear,’ said Pauline, lowering her eyes to a spot on the carpet. ‘I’ve been meaning to see to those, I really have.’
I groaned. ‘I could not believe it,’ I said. ‘When the bank contacted me. I thought you’d simply overestimated your ability to deal with the work Thought you’d just been a little too ambitious when you said you wanted to be a bit more than just a secretary, said you could run this end of the business if I was away on a selling trip for a month. But I’ve looked through this lot —’ I made a gesture that took in the welter of correspondence and paperwork ‘— and it’s clear as day that you weren’t out of your depth, you were just too damn lazy to take the trouble!’
Pauline’s mouth drew up into a sulky pout.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s alright for you. You don’t know what it’s like working in this horrible old part of town.’ She stood up. She was tall for a girl, about five foot seven I guessed, and the backless little white slippers with their high heels brought her up to the point where she only had to look up at me a couple of inches. Her blue eyes met mine and then lowered under long lashes. She smoothed her hands down over her hips, where the black skirt fitted smoothly before flaring out around the long and shapely legs. The blonde hair framed her face, curled around the nape of her neck ‘Besides,’ she went on. ‘Now you’re back we can get it all straight. I don’t mind working hard.’
‘Straight!’ I groaned. ‘You should have been working hard without me looking over your shoulder. Don’t you understand, girl? The cheques I’ve sent out have bounced because those that were coming in weren’t going to the bank. I’ve lost all credibility with my clients. I’m ruined. Bankrupt probably, when I’ve paid for all the stuff I shan’t ever be able to sell now. I can’t even have the pleasure of firing you. You’re just redundant because the firm’s bust.’
‘Oh it can’t be that bad, Mr Glenn,’ she began, crossing to where I now stood, just in front of my desk. ‘Lucy was only saying yesterday afternoon that —’
‘Lucy? Who the hell’s Lucy?’
‘You know, the girl who works in the office downstairs —’
‘That’s the last straw! So even when you do get here you can’t be bothered to stay! No wonder the bank manager said he could never reach the office by phone! Come here, girl, I’m going to give you something to remember me by when you’re in the dole queue with the rest of Maggie’s Millions!’
I lunged forward and seized her left wrist and flung my weight backwards so that I sat on the desktop. With a yelp of surprise she catapulted forward and when her top half kept going when her thighs met mine, she flopped over my knee. I flung up the hem of her skirt.
She wore those stockings which have elastic woven into the welt so that they stay up without benefit of suspenders. Her briefs were white nylon, the plump gusset cotton and smooth cheeks were exposed either side of the tight triangle they made. Instinctively, she clapped her right hand, palm uppermost, over the exposed surfaces. I simply clamped it, with the other, in a hard grip with my left hand. I am large and I was angry. Her struggles were almost token, they were singularly ineffective. I drew up my knees, so that she could not swing herself off my lap by using her weight, and raising my flattened palm up to shoulder height I brought it down as hard as I could. She yelped as if she had been stung and the bright impact of my four fingers sprang into view on the part of her right buttock which the panties left exposed, a scarlet smudge from my palm appearing on its companion.
It was not a long spanking. I did not take time to savour the finer points of her gradually overheating bottom or the cries, imprecations and threats which all too soon turned into pleas and wails for mercy, nor the frantic gyrations of her hips across my knee, writhing and wriggling under the increasing rain of slaps. I did not even pause to take down her knickers, just spanked and spanked until my palm itself was feeling sore and then simply let go of her.
She scrambled up off my lap and clapped her hands behind her, rubbing the seat of her skirt. Feet apart, her wide eyes even wider than usual, hopping from foot to foot as she leant forward from the waist, she tried to speak.
‘You-you-you-’ she spluttered, finally, but words failed her and, with a final gasp of indignation, she turned and fled the room. Feeling invigorated by the exercise, I turned to the seemingly insoluble problems around my office, rummaging through the files, looking for a place to start.
The next morning, feeling half-dead from fatigue, I heard a knock at the door. Too timid for the bailiffs, I thought, calling out an invitation to enter. I was surprised though, when it turned out to be Pauline. There was a moment’s awkward silence. She indicated her desk.
‘S’alright if I get my stuff?’ she mumbled.
‘Go ahead.’
She began to sort through the drawers, revealing an array of nail varnish, cosmetics and stacks of Honey and Jackie. There was, though, obviously something on her mind. She kept pausing and looking up at me and swallowing nervously as if she were gearing herself up to plunge into something. Finally she blurted out: ‘You wouldn’t, I mean would you, like me to stay and sort of help you to try and get things straight? I’m really sorry about everything getting in such a mess because of me and I’d feel so much better if you’d let me. I do feel rotten about letting you down when you gave me a chance and trusted me like.’
I was, to say the least, surprised. If I had expected anything, it had been animosity. ‘Well,’ I said hesitatingly, ‘I could do with some assistance, certainly, but I’m not sure —’
‘I don’t mind waiting for my wages and I am a good secretary really and I do want to prove it to you, and if, er, if, I mean if um…’ She broke off, blushing, her eyes downcast.
‘If what?’
‘Well, you know, if you’re not happy with my work for any reason, er, you could, um, oh I mean…’ Again her voice faded away.
‘Could what?’
‘Oh, you know. Do what you did yesterday like.’
Suddenly, though blushing furiously, she looked straight at me. ‘Oh, honest, sometimes I think that’s just what I need to keep me doing what I oughter be doing, you know? Ever since I moved away from ‘ome and got me own flat I keep back-sliding and messing things up no end. Its bleedin’ ridiculous really.’
‘Your old Dad used to keep you in order, did he?’
‘I’ll say! One step out of line and you made the acquaintance with the end of his belt! Stung, that bleeder did, I’ll tell you!’
‘I see.’ I paused. ‘And you’d be prepared to work under those conditions? Behave the proper way or else be disciplined by me?’
‘Well, put it this way: I feel I owe you something, I do want to make amends, and I ‘ate job hunting.’
‘Very well, then, we’ll give it a try.’
‘Cor! Super!’ she beamed and, quite spontaneously, leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek
‘But we may as well start the way we mean to go on, hadn’t we? You’re more than an hour late. Come here.’
Her face fell. She hesitated a moment, then, with dragging footsteps, approached my chair. I patted my knee. ‘Over you go,’ I said, and with a look of distinct trepidation on her face she obeyed, lowering herself gingerly across my lap and steadying herself by holding on to my thigh. I wasted no time flipping up the hem of the short, pleated skirt she wore that day and hooking my fingers into the elastic of her white pants. She gasped.
‘Oh lor!’ she said. ‘Not on the bare! It’s so embarrassing!’
‘The bare,’ I said firmly. ‘It will be on the bare from now on so we may as well start on the right foot. Or the right cheek as perhaps I should say.’
‘Cor, leave the jokes out,’ she replied. ‘A spanking’s going to be bad enough. You’ve got a jolly ‘eavy hand.’
The panties slipped smoothly over the curves of her bum and past the elasticated welts of her tan stockings to rest in a little tangle around her knees. I took my first look at the bottom with which I was to become so familiar. It was firm and well-shaped without a blemish except the two cute little dimples which were located just above it. The flesh was firm and the skin was smooth, but best of all, the deep bronze suntan began and ended just where her bottom did. The target area was in contrast to the surrounding tanned skin.
‘You’re nicely tanned,’ I said.
‘Not for the last time, I’d guess,’ she groaned.
‘Now who’s cracking funnies?’ I asked, raising my hand. I thought I could still detect a slight shade of pink from my ministrations the previous day, but I did not stay long to examine, almost immediately raising my hand and bringing it down in a high, flat arc.
‘Owwwwwwwooooohhh!’ cried Pauline, her feet involuntarily kicking, a bright red handprint now decorating her bottom. My palm was tingling nicely as I raised it once more only to bring it swiftly down. I fell into a steady rhythm that soon had Pauline wriggling as if she was on a hot stove.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
‘Yeeeowwwww!’ she wailed, busily writhing as if trying to get her bottom out of range of the rain of slaps.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
‘Ow! Ooh! Ouch!’ she squealed, losing the last of her composure and throwing back her hands over her burning seat. I clamped them both in my left hand and continued the smacking.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
‘Owww, please, I’ll be good —’
The little scrap of white cloth tossed and foamed around her knees and her stocking-tops whispered together as she squirmed around, the blonde hair tossing around her face.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
‘Oooh, please, ow, oh I can’t stand it, stoppit! Please!’
I paused, then completed her spanking with a flurry of slaps that raised the brightness of her scarlet bottom to an even more fiery red.
‘Oooooooohhhh!’ she cried. I let her go and immediately both her hands flew back to the glowing skin and tried to rub away the sting. She got awkwardly up off my lap.
‘Owwwwww! Cor, that was a bit strong! I didn’t think anybody could spank harder than my old Dad but that was a bit thorough!’ I grinned, watching her hop from foot to foot, her hands rubbing busily beneath her skirt and her panties hobbling her nylon-sheathed legs.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a five-minute break to powder your nose then you can make me a cup of coffee and then we can get down to work. There’s a stack of invoices for you to type and then you can get started on the letters explaining the rubber cheques.’
When she walked back into the room she was walking a little stiffly but she had taken exactly five minutes. I had dumped the work on her desk. She gave a low whistle at the size of the pile. She crossed the room and pulled out her adjustable revolving chair and sank gratefully into it. A moment later she was up again, having given vent to a shrill shriek her slender fingers exploring the seat of the short skirt.
‘Owww!’ she wailed. ‘I can’t sit down!’
‘Oh well then, you’ll just have to do your typing standing up, then, won’t you?’
That is what she did. I humped the typewriter onto the top of the filing cabinet and there she stood, in her mini-skirt and high heels, blonde hair falling to her shoulders, busily clacking away at the machine. I began to feel that we might just pull through after all.
In the subsequent week she had two more spankings, very mild affairs compared to the full, over-the-knee treatment she had been given at first, but then I was pleased with her attitude. One was a few quick slaps just before lunch, when I simply put one foot on an open file drawer (which shouldn’t have been open, which was why she was getting spanked) bent her over my knee, lifted her skirt and applied my palm fairly gently across the seat of her panties. To be truthful, I had an ulterior motive for this. I had noticed that I had seemed to enjoy the second whacking I had handed out even more than the first and I wondered why. Both had been administered across my knee, but in one case the recipient had been a much more amenable young lady, so it could have been that. Or it could have been that the second time I had taken her knickers down. So, with my foot propped on the file drawer I left them up as an experiment I found that perhaps it was better fun to watch the jiggling buttocks grow pink.
On the other occasion we were both standing, so I turned her around and bent her over the desk (she went meekly enough) lifted her skirt and slip up and slipped her knickers down before administering a half-a-dozen spanks across the rounded, lower part of her bottom. I came to the conclusion that panties down was preferable, but thought that quite a lot of research would have to be done before arriving at a final analysis. It was this line of thought that led to my next experiment.
It was about half-an-hour after we returned from lunch one day that Pauline rose from her chair and asked if I needed anything from the corner shop as she was just popping out for a moment. When she came back I said: ‘You’d only just come in. Also you “just popped out” three times this morning. How much are your little expeditions costing me, I wonder? Have a little chinwag with Lucy on the way, did you? We shall have to put a stop to this. Take off your clothes.’
‘B-beg pardon?’ said a startled Pauline.
‘Your clothes,’ I said. ‘Get ‘em off.’
‘But why?’ she said. ‘Are you going to spank me?’
‘I don’t know yet. I might. And I definitely will if you’re not stripped within five seconds.’
Very swiftly, with no further ado, Pauline undressed, taking off her clothes in a very matter-of-fact way. Her face wore a distinct look of trepidation as she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off her shoulders then, a little shyly, unclipped her bra and shrugged it off. She then unclipped her stockings and rolled down each one, reaching under her skirt to unfasten the suspender-clasps. She then reached behind her and undid her suspender-belt, pulling its straps up through her knickers. She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, standing hesitantly in only her brief white pants.
‘Everything?’ she asked, rather plaintively.
‘Everything,’ I replied, firmly. Nervously, she peeled off her knickers and stood, fidgeting, in nothing but the ghost of her bikini, two bands of white across breasts and hips where the sun had not tanned her.
‘Do a twirl,’ I told her and she obediently turned around. Her figure was slender and perfect, her tan a deep honey glow except where the bosom and buttocks remained white. Her legs were long and slim, her waist narrow and her bust high and rounded. Altogether, she had a very lovely body.
‘OK’ I said. ‘Get on with it.’
‘What? What do you mean? What have I got to do?’
‘About fourteen bills of lading if I remember, haven’t you?’
‘You mean get on with my work?’ she asked incredulously, her voice sharply rising in pitch. ‘Like this?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘That’ll make sure you stick to your typewriter instead of toddling off every five minutes, won’t it?’
She spluttered, gesturing at her nakedness. ‘But I can’t get on with it like this!’
I made a motion with my right hand, cupping it slightly and moving it through the air.
‘Yessir,’ she said. ‘Getting on with it now, sir!’
So, for the rest of the afternoon, Pauline did her typing, answered the phone, filed correspondence and generally carried on the office routine, all completely in the nude. At first she was a little awkward but she soon became more at ease. Not being overlooked by any other windows, she soon relaxed and worked at her normal pace. Staying at her desk we got a full afternoon’s work done. At five o’clock I stood up and pushed back my chair.
‘Time to go home,’ I said. ‘Come here a moment.’ She stood up and walked over to me.
‘Bend over the desk,’ I ordered. She did so and I noticed that sitting naked on the chair all afternoon had given her a red splotch on the lower part of her bottom. I picked up the eighteen-inch desk ruler. Pauline had folded her hands and placed her chin on them. Her bare bottom stuck up inches higher than her head, her feet together and her legs straight. Aiming at the already reddened area, I raised the ruler and brought it sharply down.
‘Owww!’ cried Pauline.
‘Yeeowww!’ she squealed.
Thwack! The twin mounds wiggled as the wooden ruler heated their surface. ‘Ooooooh!’ she yelled.
‘Yeeouch!’ The bottom was now quite a bright scarlet and, when I tested it with my other hand, satisfactorily warm.
‘Right, my girl, you can stand up now and put your knickers on and go home. And we’ll have a bit less of this skiving in future, too.’
Pouting, she stood up, rubbing her bottom, crossed to the pile of clothes and stepped into her panties. When she was fully dressed once more she moved to the door.
‘Could you do me a favour please? If I’ve got to do all my typing in the nude can you arrange to have the central heating turned up? There’s only one part of me that isn’t freezing.’
The next morning I had been pondering the idea of having Pauline, for some of the time at least, doing her chores and sitting around the office stark naked. This presented no customer relations problems, for there were virtually no visitors at our small office, and the door was kept locked except when someone was being admitted. I liked the principle of the idea, but thought one or two refinements might improve on it as a spectator sport. A few minutes before nine when Pauline came in (since corporal punishment had become a part of the office routine she had become very punctual) I did not give her so much as time to put down her handbag before informing her that we were going to try a variation on the theme of the previous day.
‘But this time you’re going to undress in a different order. Top first.’
Obediently, the girl put down her handbag and, grasping the hem of the skimpy sweater, pulled it clingingly over her head, the blonde mop disappearing and then springing free again as the taut breasts in their flowered bra came into view. And as she did so, the thought struck me that if she wasn’t happy with our revised arrangements she wouldn’t have come back for more.
‘Skirt,’ I said.
Putting both hands to one hip she unzipped her short pleated skirt and stepped out of it. She tossed it on the chair on top of her sweater and now stood still in bra, pants and suspender-belt, all of which proved to be a matching set, her stockings sheer and black and, on her feet, the little backless slippers she had worn the day of her first spanking.
‘Bra,’ I said. At this command she arched her hands up behind her back and the cups sprang away from her full young breasts, their nipples stiffening as if in excitement.
‘Now turn around and take down your knickers.’ Slowly she peeled the clinging material over her buttocks and then past the buttons of her suspenders.
‘Shall I take them off?’
The panties came right down. Then, one foot at a time, she stepped out of them.
‘Right, that will do nicely. That’s your punishment outfit.’
‘Sussie-belt, stockings and shoes? What if I’m wearing tights or boots and trousers?’
‘Boots are alright but woe betide you if I ever catch you wearing trousers or tights. When, in future, you’re told to get ready for punishment, that’s how you’ll do it, right? Now you can make me some coffee, we’ve got a lot to do today.’
‘Well,’ grumbled the girl ‘I’d better not splash any hot water about. Blimey, I’ve never had a job like this before.’
As she had complied with my wishes so readily, I did not give her a spanking that day. Her next one came when I had been down to the docks to pick up a large trunk I was shipping. This was to be her first whacking in her punishment outfit.
When the door swung open to admit the taxi driver, myself and the trunk one thing was immediately obvious: my secretary had not expected me back so soon. She was sitting, ankles crossed, feet on her desk which was covered with coffee cups and cosmetic bottles, painting her finger nails as she chattered into the phone. When she saw me she jumped forward, spilling things.
‘Cripes! Sorry Mum, I’ll have to ring off, my boss is here.’
I paid off the taxi driver and he gave me a look as the door shut as if he’d rather he was staying around for a while. ‘Business call?’ I asked.
‘Er no, not really.’ She chewed her lip and looked down at the floor, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ I went on. ‘But didn’t you tell me that your parents were on holiday in the Lake District?’
‘Er, well, yes, they are.’
I said nothing. She lifted her gaze and looked at me beseechingly, then gulped.
‘Punishment oufit?’ she asked, her fingers already reaching for a button.
The skirt dropped in a puddle around her ankles, swiftly followed by minislip, bra and pants. In just her suspender-belt, stockings and shoes, Pauline enquired: ‘where do I have to put it so that you can tan it.’
‘Touch your toes,’ I ordered.
‘Ooof,’ she puffed. I haven’t done this since I used to do them yoga classes.’
From the pile of clothes I disentangled the light belt she had been wearing, a red leather affair about an inch wide and wrapped it around my hand until I had a makeshift tawse about fifteen inches long. I took up position behind her, slightly to the right and planted my feet firmly. I swung my arm to shoulder height and the belt whistled down.
‘Yeow!’ squealed Pauline, immediately standing up, clapping her hands to her seat and exercising a sort of war dance around the room.
‘Right, that one won’t count because you broke position. Over you go again, you’ve still got six to go.’ Muttering a bit mutinously, she again put glossy fingertips to toes but as soon as the faint whistle of the strap reached her ears she half-straightened up — involuntarily I was sure — pulling her bottom in and forward so that the strap only landed with a feeble flap. Each subsequent attempt proved equally frustrating and unsatisfactory, with the young lady even reacting to the rustle of my sleeve as soon as I lifted my arm.
‘Sorry, Mr Glenn,’ she apologised. ‘Dad used to have a devil of a time getting me to ‘old still so that he could give me a good hiding. It stings so, see? I can’t ‘elp it.’
I glanced around the room and inspiration dawned.
‘Kneel on the trunk, girl, and we’ll soon solve the problem. That’s it, now place your hands on the floor so that they support most of your weight. Good, now you’re just nicely positioned. Your bottom’s higher than your head and you won’t suddenly jump out of the way.
‘Oh very ingenious I’m sure,’ said Pauline, her voice coming from in between her arms. I took up my position again, above and behind the ghost bikini, now coloured with one good splotch of crimson and one lick of pale pink. I raised the strap once more and this time the target, though it wriggled about a good deal, stayed in my sights and I was able to hit my rhythm straight away.
‘Owww, blimey not too hard, please!’
‘Yeeeowww! Oh, a bit lower, please!’
‘Ooooh! Oh gawd —‘
My task completed, and Pauline’s rear end glowing nicely, I took her by the arm and helped her up, found a block of foam rubber for her to sit on while she typed, and set about my paperwork reasonably convinced she was not going to swell British Telecom’s coffers by peak time gossip with the resorts of Windermere and Coniston in the near future.
I carried on experimenting to establish favourite positions, implements and styles of dress suitable to the disciplining of female office personnel. Once I made her take off everything that she pulled up or that went over her head and she spent a lively ten minutes over my knee with only bra and boots on.
On another occasion I gave her two strokes of the ruler with her touching her toes (she managed to hold still for just the two), two with her across the desk and two more with her bent over her revolving chair, discovering that just the right degree of tautness of bottom seemed achieved in the last-named position.
When itemizing a cargo of schools’ equipment destined for West Africa, I discovered that it included a batch of crook-handle canes and appropriated one of these in the interests of research, hanging it behind the door. Pauline eyed it with a certain recalcitrance and, though she was not very forthcoming, I gathered that she had had some acquaintance with a similar one in the office of the headmistress of a certain North London educational establishment. The opportunity to put it to work did not come for some time, for thanks to long hours and a little luck I began to pull the business round, a process in which, geed up by the occasional mild hand spanking, Pauline aided a good deal. She certainly gave no excuse to bring the cane into action.
Then, one day on my way up North to supervise a shipment, I called in at the office and surprised Pauline in a pair of jeans. I bawled her out, pretending to be more angry than I really was. Here, at last, was my chance to try out the rattan!
‘Er, do you want me in punishment outfit?’ she stammered. ‘Cos, I mean, wouldn’t you sooner wait till you get back?’
‘I can’t afford to miss the train,’ I said, ‘but I’ve just got time to deal with you. Get over that chair and drop your jeans at once.’
‘Er, drop my jeans,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t you whack me over my clothes just this once?’
‘Certainly not,’ I said, picking up the cane and swishing it through the air.
‘Oh go on,’ she pleaded. ‘If you’re going to use the cane.’
‘Will you get on with it or do you want extra for arguing?’
With a sigh she complied and, as she pushed the tight jeans down over her hips, I discovered the reason for her reluctance. Under the jeans and under her lacy black pants, she wore tights.
‘I see,’ I murmured. ‘While the cat’s away, eh? Well my girl I’ll deal with you when I return. Today you can just have six stingers for the jeans.’ As I spoke I hooked my fingers in the elastic of both tights and knickers and hauled them down to her knees then I touched the cane to the centre of her behind, bisecting the cleft.
She jumped. ‘Gawd, I’d forgotten how one of those stings!’ A red tramline had appeared, as if by magic, across her bare seat.
Two lines now across the creamy surface.
I let her have two in swift succession.
Swish! Swish!
‘Owwww! Ooh, blimey that stung. You don’t half lay it on!’
Her blonde hair tumbled about as her head tossed, her knees scissored each other, straining at the cloth around them. Five separate marks of the cane were visible across the smooth bottom. I raised the cane for the final time, aiming for the full, plump, lower curve.
‘EEEEEKKKKK!’ she screeched, her control finally leaving her, her hands flying to her burning rear as I tossed the stick on the desk, regretting I had no time for a close and full examination of my handiwork.
For the moment, there is not a lot more to tell. That caning was last week and my most recent examination has indicated that the marks have all but faded. I suppose, then, it is time the matter of the tights was dealt with.
‘And don’t look at me like that my girl and start in with your pleading that you’re still sore, just carry on typing as I dictate. I want this missive in the post today. And I’d try to avoid typing errors, if I were you. I picked up something that might interest you when I was up North. It’s called a tawse. Do what with it? Really, Pauline, such language. I really think, young lady, that I shall have to spank you for that…’

1 comment: