Ann and Mary sat nervously picking at their fingers as the interview progressed. Fresh out of school, they had both decided to apply for vacancies as trainee managers with a highly regarded hotel about thirty miles from their home in Surrey. Both girls were bright, having achieved a good number of O-Levels and two A-Levels each, though the grades of the A’s were less than spectacular, more through idleness than lack of ability.
Ann’s mother was talking to the manager again: ‘And the wages are paid weekly?’
‘That’s right Mrs Rogers, and of course the girls get three meals a day and their room, as they’re living in…’ confirmed John Spelling, the manager, with a smile.
‘They share a room, do they, Mr Spelling?’
‘Oh yes, most of our previous girls preferred to share; in any case. I’m afraid we simply don’t have the space to offer separate accommodation.’
‘No, quite,’ agreed Mrs Rogers hastily.
‘Er… what time off do we get?’ asked Mary.
‘You get two hours between breakfast and lunch normally, unless we have a function on, and you have two evenings off a week, plus of course your normal full day off each week. In practice, you’re likely to get time off in the afternoon, but that’s when you’ll be attending half-day release at college.’
‘Well, that seems very fair, Mary,’ suggested Ann’s mother.
‘Yes, yes it does.’
‘I should add, Mrs Rogers, that we expect certain standards from our trainee managers. I know you two are only eighteen, but you’ll soon be taking on responsible roles within the hotel, as you learn what’s what, and self-discipline has an important part to play. If your work is particularly good, we try to reward it with a small bonus or time off… on the other hand, if it is particularly bad, then you must expect the scale to swing the other way…’ Mr Spelling paused.
‘I don’t think you’ll have any problems with these two, Mr Spelling,’ said Mrs Rogers.
‘I’m sure we won’t,’ he smiled.
‘Ummm… what exactly do you mean ‘the scales will swing the other way’?’ asked Ann.
‘Oh, that you’ll be punished, according to the severity of the problem.’
‘What, docked wages, that sort of thing?’ asked Mrs Rogers.
‘Yes that sort of thing: whatever seems appropriate to the problem, as I said. The owner, Mr Harben, or I myself, deal with anything like that, so you’ll be dealt with fairly I can assure you.’
Spelling skated over the issue lightly: there was no need to inform this anxious mother, any more than any of the other anxious parents, that young daughters might well be introduced to punishments of a more corporal kind if they didn’t toe the line. The office in which they were sitting had frequently rung to the smack of bamboo or leather on unprotected flesh.
Looking at the two youngsters now being placed in his charge, he wondered how they would respond to being thrashed. Ann, the prettier of the two, was tall and slim with an aristocratic tilt to the head which needed bringing down a peg or two. Mary was a bubbly, extrovert blonde with a dazzling smile and a more solidly-built frame, including two beautifully full breasts which were not disguised by the bra she wore. Spelling was certain that her rear-end would prove to be equally well-padded. Neither looked as if they’d been on the receiving end of a beating in their life, though they both attended St Agnetha’s where he knew they still opted for corporal punishment as a last resort.
‘Well, if you have no further questions, I’ll show you the room which the girls will have, and I needn’t keep you any longer,’ Spelling concluded, standing to lead the way.
‘Well, I’m very pleased that you’ve decided to take on these two,’ grovelled Mrs Rogers, ‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.’
‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Mr Spelling agreed, with a wide smile, his eyes falling to the pertly rounded rump belonging to Mary as it undulated softly under the woollen skirt on its way down the corridor to the staff quarters.
Ten minutes later, Mr Spelling was bidding the girls and Mrs Rogers goodbye: ‘We look forward to seeing Ann and Mary next Monday then, Mrs Rogers. Thank you so much for coming all this way.’
Mary sat behind the desk at reception with Susie, the senior receptionist, as she sorted through the day’s arrivals and departures: ‘We’ve got eighteen departures today and fifteen arrivals, Mary, so it’s going to be pretty busy. Best if you just observe as it’s your first day around here. Then you can gradually get more involved as the week goes on. OK?’
It was only Mary’s second day, the first having been spent touring the hotel to get an overall picture, and to meet some of the staff. With nearly sixty rooms, there were a lot of people to look after: Mary was daunted at the prospect of getting to know all the staff.
John, the assistant manager, came sauntering into the reception area and gave Susie a resounding slap on the bottom as she bent to pick up a file: ‘Morning Sue, everything OK?’
‘Do you mind not doing that, John?’ Susie complained, rubbing ruefully at her bottom. ‘I’ve had a dose already this morning, and I don’t need any more.’
‘Oh, it was you was it? I wondered who was catching it when I went up to his office this morning: how many?’ he asked, with a little too much interest.
‘Four, if you must know, John.’
‘With the leather, by the sound of it?’
‘That’s right. Now you must let us get on…’ Susie turned to go through the day diary.
John winked at Mary, whose eyes were wide in surprise at the piece of information she’d just received. She must have misunderstood. When John had gone, with a parting ‘Your turn next, Mary…’, she couldn’t contain herself.
‘Susie, what the hell was he on about: surely you haven’t had your bum whacked? Who by?’
‘Spelling, of course.’
‘But he can’t do that!’ exclaimed an indignant Mary.
‘Ah, but he can, dear. There are plenty of red backsides around here to prove it too. With so many female staff, and most of them young too, he gets plenty of practice.
‘What does he use… what did you get this morning?’
‘A leather strap called a tawse; it’s a pleasant little Scottish invention specially made for the purpose… but sometimes he uses a cane. And when old Harben the owner is involved, you can be sure it’ll be the cane… and nothing between you and it, either.’
‘On the hand?’ asked Mary hopefully.
‘No, the other end.’
‘Not bare surely?’
‘Every time… ask Angie, she gets it every couple of months off old Harben; she’s a special favourite.’
‘I just don’t believe it! How can they do it and get away with it?’ Mary asked.
‘Simple, really. No-one ever gets whacked without agreeing to it first. But the alternative is so unattractive, a whacking is the easy way out.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Don’t be dense, Mary… if you’ve slipped up over something which warrants seeing Spelling or Harben, they give you the option of being punished, or of having your wages deducted or losing time off. Now, the wages aren’t bad for a hotel, better than the industry average, but they’re still not spectacular especially if you live in like most of us. So losing ten quid or so is bad news. And who wants to lose what little time off they’ve got? So a lot of the girls… well, it’s over quickly too.’
‘Christ… I hope I don’t slip up then,’ said Mary quietly.
‘Oh, you will, dear… eventually,’ Susie said with a broad grin, ‘Now let’s get on with it, shall we?’
Mary imparted her breathless news to Ann later in the day. However, Ann was already familiar with the novel disciplinary procedures at the hotel, and poo-poo’d Mary’s fears: ‘Oh come on Mary, didn’t you get the stick at school? I’m sure you did…’
‘Well, I got the slipper a couple of times, and the hairbrush once from the prefects, but I haven’t been whacked since I was about fifteen. And I’ve never been caned!’
‘Or strapped?’ asked Ann. ‘I have!’
‘When?… you’re lying!’
‘You know Uncle Tom?’
‘Well, he whacked me in the summer house last August after I scratched his bloody car by accident. And that belt stung like crazy. At least I didn’t get it bare bum.’
‘Six… skirt up and bent over the table. I think he enjoyed it. And I got the cane at school… but you know that anyway.’
‘What can we do, Annie?’ asked Mary.
‘Grin and bare it?’ laughed Ann.
Two days later, on Mary’s fourth day at the hotel, she received an early morning call to see Mr Spelling after breakfast; her heart jumped into her mouth, and her mouth was strangely dry; she found it difficult to concentrate at reception, and didn’t want to tell Susie that she’d been summoned.
At nine thirty on the button, she knocked on the manager’s door: ‘Come in!’
She smoothed her skirt, and pushed on the handle. The door swung open. ‘Ah, Mary… yes, I remember. There was a problem at reception yesterday evening I understand…’
‘Er… a problem, Mr Spelling?’
‘Yes, girl, a problem. One which was serious enough to warrant a guest making a complaint. Does anything come to mind?’
‘Well, there was the gentleman in room 44, but the telex machine wasn’t working, so we couldn’t send the stuff he wanted…’
‘But you do not tell a guest ‘It’s not my fault the damn thing isn’t working… you could always post it… do you?’
‘Well, he was being really stroppy about it: quite unpleasant, actually, and as the telex wasn’t working I thought it was OK to suggest the post. It would have got there the next morning…’
‘That’s not the point, Mary. The point is that we’re here to help our guests, not hinder them or make them angry. Mr Leuback is a regular customer of ours, who gives us a great deal of business when he’s in this country. I have had to refund a portion of the cost of his suite to calm him down… and send the telex at our own cost.’
‘I didn’t realise…’ mumbled Mary, staring at the carpet, suddenly aware of how large her backside seemed to feel.
‘Well, this isn’t a very good start, is it?’
‘No, Mr Spelling.’
‘I’ve had a word with Susie to make sure she briefs you on procedure in case of telex breakdown: it was remiss of her not to do so, and I’ve already dealt with that. But there remains the problem of your rudeness to a valued guest…’
Mary shuffled her feet.
‘Susie tells me that she mentioned the way in which we deal with slip-ups here: is that right?’
‘Yes, she did, but…’
‘Well, I propose to dock ten pounds from your wages this week, to remind you of the standards which we expect from you. That’s all.’
Mary didn’t move, startled at the suddenness of his decision: ten pounds was a great deal of money to her:
‘Ummm, Mr Spelling?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Susie mentioned that you sometimes give an alternative to… er…’
‘Yes, sometimes, if appropriate.’
Mary couldn’t believe what she was asking as her mouth formed the words.
‘Well, would it be possible for me to be punished instead?’
‘Yes, if that’s what you want. Is it?’ asked Mr Spelling, scribbling signatures on memos.
‘Er… what would it be?’ Mary’s voice rose pensively.
‘Well, let’s see… a ten pound fine… two pounds equals one stroke… I think five strokes would be appropriate.’ He didn’t look up.
‘What with, Mr Spelling?’
‘Well, it’s your first slip up, so it’ll be the tawse. You know what that is?’
‘It’s a leather strap, I think.’
‘Precisely. So, five with the leather strap, or ten pounds deducted. Which is it to be?’
Mary was going to ask if she’d have to take her knickers down, but decided it might make him more irritated than he already was.
‘I’d rather have the tawse, please.’
‘Fine, fine… come back here at ten, then, and I’ll deal with you: there are a number of other things to be done first. Oh… and when you report back, make sure you aren’t wearing tights. Right, off you go.’
The trickle of sweat down her spine emphasised Mary’s nervousness as, twenty minutes later, she stood outside that same office door, the breeze on her bare legs doing little to cool her. She knocked firmly: ‘Come in!’
Mary’s eyebrows shot up as she saw Mr Leuback sitting comfortably on the settee drinking a cup of coffee. ‘Ah, Mary, this is Mr Leuback, whom I think you know…’
‘Yes, Mr Spelling. Good morning, Mr Leuback. I’m sorry about last night, sir, but I’m very new to the job…’ Mary began.
‘Yes, yes, I’ve already been over that with Mr Leuback, and explained what action we’re taking to correct the problem. He accepts that Susie has already been dealt with, and was interested in how we approach these things. I invited him to see for himself.’
‘I bet you did,’ thought Mary, ‘and I bet he jumped at the chance… grubby little man.’
‘Yes Mr Spelling,’ she replied.
‘I have told Mr Leuback that you asked to be strapped for your behaviour last night, which he finds admirable,’ Mr Spelling went on.
‘Admirable, very admirable,’ agreed Leuback, showing a row of discoloured teeth as he grinned. ‘A girl prepared to accept her discipline bravely, and to correct her faults… admirable.’
‘Take your skirt off, Mary,’ ordered Mr Spelling, ‘This won’t take a moment.’
Mary undid the zip at the back and stepped out of her skirt. She had removed her slip already and was not, as instructed, wearing tights. The pale patterned blouse came half way down her bottom.
‘And the blouse, if you please…’
Mary couldn’t understand the necessity for taking her blouse off as well, but her fingers went automatically, obediently, to the buttons, and she quickly pulled it over her head.
Leuback sank back in the settee and admired the firm, pale English body, decorated with light freckles. Clad in just bra and panties, Mary’s sturdy, rounded form could not be disguised. The two full globes tugged at the inadequate cotton bra, the nipples, dark under the gauzy fabric. The whole assembly had jiggled dramatically as Mary shucked off the blouse.
The panties, a pale blue, almost contained the magnificent fleshy half-moons of the teenager’s buttocks, the waistband being just below the tantalising start of the dividing canyon, dark and secret. Mary hitched them up and covered the object of Leuback’s lewd gaze.
The time for embarrassment over, Mary stood with her arms defiantly folded under her breasts, the fleshy masses seeming to rest on her arms.
‘Fetch the tawse from the cupboard by the window, Mary,’ ordered Mr Spelling, watching her superb backside wobble invitingly as she crossed to the opposite side of the room.
She handed the thick, light tan strap to Spelling, handle first, the twin tails of leather running through her fingers as he took it. Twin tails which would shortly be doing their work on her nether regions.
Spelling took Mary’s wrist and led her over to the armchair at one side of the settee, spinning it round with his foot so that the back faced Leuback, and pulling Mary to stand in front of the man, her cotton covered backside a mere four feet from his face. He grinned in anticipation of seeing her jump.
‘Knickers down,’ came the command. It was not a surprise to Mary, but still made her wince as she tugged the flimsy cotton off the soft, pale cheeks to stand, buttocks tensed, ready to bend over the back of the armchair.
‘Feet apart,’ said Spelling. Mary shuffled her shoes a few inches away from each other. ‘Further!’ came the sharp order, ‘Twenty four inches apart!’
Mary looked down and judged the distance between her feet, until they were deemed correctly placed. ‘That’s better,’ said Spelling. Leuback was gazing keenly at the apex of Mary’s legs, the pale brown bush barely concealing the intimate folds. He wondered idly if the girl was a virgin; at eighteen an unlikely fact.
‘Get over the chair.’ Bending from the waist, Mary bent down over the back, resting her hands on the arms until her back was parallel with the floor.
‘Come on, girl, bend right over,’ Spelling snapped, pushing down firmly between her shoulder blades and giving her bottom a light slap with the strap.
By now, Mary’s secrets were all too clear to the seated Leuback, his face now less than four feet away from her backside as he leaned forward eagerly, the parted legs providing a front-row seat to her pleasure zone.
The buttocks, plump when the girl was standing, were now slimmed in her fully bent posture but still presented a softly yielding pillow of smooth flesh for the strap’s attention.
They tensed momentarily as Mary shifted position, and the instant they relaxed again Spelling brought the tawse down hard to explode across the full width of both cheeks, the twin tails parting to lick fire over the lower part of the target.
Crraack! ‘Aaaaahhhhhhh!’ from Mary, as she heaved her body further over the chair.
Kerslaaappp! ‘Owwwwooohh!’ Thwwackkk! ‘Ouch… ooohh! It burns! Owww!’
Spelling waited a moment for the girl to stop wriggling, the movement causing a slow smile to spread over Leuback’s face as it made Mary’s legs part even further during her dance of pain.
‘Sorry, Mr Spelling, but it hurts like hell…’ Mary said.
‘It’s supposed to, Mary. Do you want to wait a moment for the last two strokes?’ Spelling asked.
‘Oh, yes please, may I get up!’
‘No, stay as you are.’ Mary’s body slumped over the chair back, her legs still tensed to take her weight, her shoes slipping on the carpet.
There was a knock at the door, and Spelling walked over and opened it slightly, said a few words, and closed it again. Picking up the tawse, he announced to the red-striped bare bottom: ‘Right, that’s long enough,’ and saw it tense as he lay the strap over the widest part.
Slllaappp! ‘Chriiist… ooooh!’
A long pause, and finally a low swoosh followed by the smack of leather and bare bottom in conflict and the loud bleat of protest from the bottom’s owner: ‘Aaaahhhh! Owwwoohhh!’
‘Get up, and get dressed, Mary, and I hope I don’t see you like that again, said Spelling.
The errant teenager stood up, forlornly massaging her glowing backside to the delight of Mr Leuback, who was fascinated with the thick weals caused by the tawse’s twin tongues. The display disappeared as Mary bent and pulled her panties up.
‘Thank you Mr Spelling,’ she heard herself say. Thank you, for beating me in front of that dirty little man, indeed, what a bloody laugh, she thought.
‘So you took five with the old leather, did you, Mary? Well done!’ said Susie a few minutes later as they both stood at reception. ‘He only gave me two, and I didn’t get it bare, either, so you really caught it. Bit much having that Mr Leuback creep seeing you getting it. Did he watch it all?’ Susie asked.
‘Did he!’ exclaimed Mary, ‘His face was about a yard from my bare bum, that’s all. Sat on the settee like the bloody Cheshire cat while I got steadily redder. It was cabaret time for him!’
‘Oh well, now you’ve been introduced to Mr Spelling’s little toy, I just hope you don’t meet old Harben’s version. That’ll give you a really hot reception!’ The girls giggled quietly.
‘Good morning sir, may I help you? Ah, it’s Mr Leuback. Checking out today, sir… enjoy your stay with us this time?’ Susie asked a little acidly.
‘Very much, thank you,’ confirmed Leuback, smiling slowly at the blushing Mary.
The night porter collected his bunch of security keys and checked his emergency bleeper as he left reception for his second tour round the hotel that night. As he disappeared down the corridor to the bedroom block, Ann and Mary peered round the corner.
‘He’ll be back in about twenty minutes, Mary, so let’s get going!’ hissed Ann.
The girls crept back through the dining room to the service corridor and from there into the kitchens. They had both missed the staff supper that evening as they had almost been late for duty after a shopping trip into town. Intent now on filling their empty stomachs, they were soon in the cold room making a selection of cold meats.
‘There’s some smoked salmon here, Annie,’ whispered Mary.
‘Get some then. I’ll get the bread.’
Mary took what was left of the already sliced salmon and wrapped it in some grease-proof paper, adding it to the pile of pork and chicken which Ann had gathered. There was enough to make a couple of good sandwiches each.
‘Got the butter, Mary?’ came the question.
‘Oh shit, forgot… hang on.’
As Mary stepped out into the kitchen with her package of goodies, the fluorescent lights flickered into life.
‘Put the bloody lights out, Ann, for God’s sake. George might see them.’
‘George put them on,’ came a smug male voice from the kitchen exit.
Ann and Mary both froze with fright, Mary trying half-heartedly to hide the incriminating package inside her dressing gown while Ann let the slices of bread fall gently to the floor, where she kicked them under the counter.
‘And what are you two up to, may I ask? You’re the new ones aren’t you?’ George demanded.
Neither girl had yet met the night porter, as they had only been at the hotel for two weeks and George had been on holiday. His assistant, Frank, had been in charge.
‘Oh, hello George… we were just… er…’ Ann began.
‘Just nicking some food, I should think.’ George completed the sentence helpfully. ‘What have you got there?’ he asked Mary, walking towards her and holding out his hand for the package. Mary handed it over reluctantly, and watched as he unwrapped the evidence of their 2am kitchen raid.
‘Well, well, smoked salmon and cold meats, eh? A right little party. Well, it’ll be the high jump for you two tomorrow morning, with Mr Harben I shouldn’t wonder. A good tanning will be just what you deserve, so I hope you get it.’
‘Surely there’s no need to tell Mr Harben, George?’ asked Ann desperately, the thought of her first beating bringing a note of alarm in her voice.
‘What, theft of food?… in the middle of the night in the kitchens?… luxury food at that? You must be joking. Someone’ll notice, and I’ll catch it if I don’t report you. What d’you expect me to do, put you both across my knee for a good spanking?’
‘Well, I’d rather…’ Mary blurted, then stopped.
Even if they let George spank them, what guarantee did they have that they wouldn’t be reported anyway?
‘How do we know someone else won’t report it?’ asked Ann.
‘Well, you don’t my dear, but I’ll have a word with the chef in the morning before I go off… so…’ answered George. ‘Are you saying you’d rather be spanked, then?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Frankly, George, I don’t relish the idea of being smacked, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll go along with it,’ continued Ann.
‘What? Let him…?’ Mary asked.
Ann nodded slowly.
‘Oh, all right, then,’ Mary agreed.
‘Right, you’d better come with me, then girls,’ announced George with a smile.
Two minutes later, both miscreants were shivering slightly in the cool of the wine cellar, where George was arranging two or three empty plastic crates as a seat.
He plonked himself down and asked ‘Right, who’s first to come aboard?’
After a brief pause, Ann volunteered. ‘I’ll go first, then…’ and went to stand by George’s side.
‘Over my knee, young lady, if you please,’ requested George pleasantly, guiding Ann over his lap as she lowered herself down, almost immediately hitching the top half of the pyjamas she wore well up her back before latching his fingers into the waist of her pyjama bottoms in preparation for a swift downward tug.
‘Hang on a minute, you’re not taking those down,’ protested Ann.
‘Now look, I’m not bothered one way or t’other if you catch it upstairs with the cane or down here with me, but a spanking’s not going to do a lot of good with these thick pyjamas in the way, now is it?’ George asked.
There was a short sigh from Ann, and she obligingly lifted her hips just off his lap for a moment to allow him to pull the trousers clear of her bottom, to rest humiliatingly halfway down her thighs. George rested his palm on the bare right cheek, which was soft and warm to the touch.
He ran his eyes over the target area. A narrow waist and slender legs emphasised the swell of the girl’s hips and the curve of her buttocks, a smooth white outline in a slightly darker colour by the shape of her bikini briefs left from last summer. He lifted his hand, and saw the bottom tense, ‘ready for the spanking to start,’ he advised.
The cheeks lost the concave hollows as Ann relaxed, and George’s palm arrived with a meaty Slapp! on her soft rump, which quivered to accommodate the impact. The cellar rang loud with the rhythmic slap of palm on bottom, Ann’s buttocks taking on first a rosy glow, then a deeper, more angry red as the punishment continued. George made sure that every part of the girl’s bottom was well-reddened before releasing her and ordering her to stand.
A moment later, the ample backside of the extrovert Mary was receiving similar attention as Ann gently rubbed her glowing behind, while watching Mary’s spanking progress. The hand rose and fell alternately on each jiggling, inviting buttock, the fullness of the flesh providing a better-padded target than Ann’s.
Mary was giving little yelps of protest as her bottom grew redder and redder, almost matching the flushed appearance of George’s face with the exertion of applying his palm to the teenagers’ rear-ends.
Finally, Mary was allowed to stand, her nightdress falling to cover the evidence of her throbbing posterior. She reached to the wine rack where she had hung up her dressing gown, and pushed her arms angrily into it.
‘Right, well, that’s it, girls… off to bed with you, and I hope I don’t catch you in the kitchens again,’ concluded George with a smile.
‘Yeah… well, thanks George, I must say,’ Ann said mockingly. As they trotted up the stairs out of the cellar, Mary complained: ‘That bloody hurt. The old sod really laid it on, didn’t he?’
‘Well, it’s not as if we didn’t ask for it, Mary. Christ, my bum’s warm enough to make toast on!’
The next day proved uneventful, as Ann and Mary went about their allotted tasks, Mary still on reception, and Ann with the house-keeper. It wasn’t until nearly nine o’clock that evening that the girls received a request to see Mr Harben in his office on the second floor. Hearts pounding, they approached the imposing suite which the owner used.
‘You don’t think George reported us anyway, do you?’ asked Ann. ‘Of course not. He’s straight enough. And I’m sure he would have mentioned it to the chef this morning, too,’ said Mary.
There was no preamble, just a simple statement. ‘I’m told that someone has been stealing smoked salmon from the cold room. Apparently you were seen by the kitchens at about 2am last night by a member of my management. Do you know anything about it?’ Harben snapped.
The girls were silent, stunned. Surely George hadn’t shopped them to Mr Harben for such a small offence? Especially after giving them both such a sound spanking.
‘You were seen by Miss Whiteholt,’ added Mr Harben.
The banqueting manageress. Of course! Ann realised suddenly. She’d seen the shape of someone at the end of the service corridor, but hadn’t been able to make out whether it was her imagination or not. Always best to trust to instinct, she thought, a little too late.
‘It was us, Mr Harben, but we didn’t mean…’ Mary began.
‘I’m not interested in a drivel of excuses. I propose to beat you both. Do you have anything to say?’ interrupted Mr Harben.
‘No, Mr Harben,’ admitted Mary. The cold eyes swung to Ann.
‘No, Mr Harben,’ added Ann sullenly.
‘How old?’ asked Harben, staring at Ann.
‘Right, eight strokes. You?’ he asked of Mary.
‘I’m 18 too, Mr Harben.’
‘Eight strokes, then. You first,’ he gestured at Ann.
‘Face the desk, skirt up, tights and pants down, touch your toes. Go,’ ordered Harben in a military staccato.
Ann hardly hesitated, but stepped up to the required position, reached under her skirt to pull tights and knickers down to her knees, lifted her skirt, and bent right down.
‘You,’ he pointed at Mary, ‘Stand in the corner by the door, facing the wall. This beating will serve to teach you that I will not tolerate theft in this hotel, however apparently small the theft might be.’
Ann looked past her legs to where Harben was swishing the bendy piece of malacca through the air. A moment later, she felt its cool length across her bare bottom, and saw it rise and disappear above his shoulder before it reappeared in a blur to arrive with a blinding, cutting slash of pain on her unprotected buttocks. ‘Aaaahhh!’ she shouted.
‘Keep quiet, girl. Extra strokes for crying out. Eight to come. Touch your toes.’
Ann had jerked partly upright with the force of the stroke, and gritted her teeth with determination as she pushed her fingers onto her shoes once again.
Swwittt! Swittt! Swiittt! Switt! The subsequent crack of cane on bare bottom made nearly as impressive a sound as the alarming approaching whistle the cane gave on its downward journey.
There was a pause, then the thrashing continued, Ann fighting against crying out as the strokes reached their naked target, the vivid tramlines bisecting her cheeks with military precision.
Swwittt! Swittt! Swittt! Swittt! Ann leapt to her feet, rubbing at the painful corrugations.
‘Next!’ demanded Harben, and Mary almost ran to take her position by the desk, fingers pushed firmly down, twin fleshy cheeks ready.
‘Good bottom, girl,’ complimented Mr Harben with a grunt as he made Mary sway onto her feet with the force of the first stroke, driving the soft flesh apart with a quivering explosion which left its red brand of evidence. Seven blistering strokes followed, with Mary’s breath coming in rasping gasps as she fought to keep silent until the beating was over.
The last stroke after a prolonged pause, and Harben mumbled ‘well taken, both of you. Now out of here, and don’t let’s say any more about it. Next time, you’re out.’
Up in their room five minutes later, Mary bathed Ann’s livid weals with a cold flannel, the deep corrugations fresh and tender to the touch: I can count each and every stroke on your bum, Annie,’ she commented, ‘Christ, have you ever been beaten like that at school?’
‘I got six off Sister Mary once, but I had my gym knickers on then. Bare is a lot worse. It’s like nine firebrands. God it throbs!’
There was a knock at the door. It was Susie, the chief receptionist with whom Mary was working.
‘Sorry to hear you had to visit old Harben. Good Lord!’ she exclaimed as she saw Ann’s bare bottom on the bed. ‘How many?’
‘Nine for her, and eight for me,’ replied Mary.
‘Look, I’ve got some news for you two. You know the assistant manager, John? Well, he’s got a little something on that Whiteholt girl who reported you, and I just think he may use it, he was so mad at you getting beaten like that. She’s up with Mr Harben now. Let’s go and have a listen…’ suggested Susie.
Just round the corner, in the corridor a few feet from the door of Harben’s office suite, the three girls grinned as they heard the first yelp of pain follow the distinctive sound of the tawse being used on a bare backside. Knowing that the owner of that backside was none other than Miss Whiteholt, the 24-year-old banqueting manageress, was a source of great satisfaction to Ann and Mary, who counted the strokes together.
‘Six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven… twelve!’ they chorused, appreciating the gently rising pitch of Miss Whiteholt’s protests as the thick leather slapped against her plump rump.
‘Serves her right,’ giggled Susie with delight, as they all started to walk off down the corridor, to be passed seconds later by a tearful Miss Whiteholt who gave them barely a glance before dashing into the staff loo to relieve the smart in her bottom with some vigorous massage.
‘I feel a great deal better after that…!’ said Ann.