‘She’s got to have a caning after lunch.’ Gerald Musgrove’s middle-class voice is matter-of-fact, as if he were commenting on the (uninspiring) weather or, say, this meat pie of Mrs Wiggins, his housekeeper, which they are eating and which is also uninspiring, stodgy in fact.
‘Oh yes?’ His guest, Henry Lanford’s, voice in contrast indicates alert interest. Henry is a similar age to Gerald, both being in their fifties. Both have also taken early retirement from respectively the law and the civil service. To have more free time to pursue their own interests. They are here at Gerald’s place in the Surrey countryside, in Gerald’s dining room on this Monday lunchtime: Gerald and Henry and the young lady who it now appears is to have a caning after the meal.
Her name is Amanda. Seated at the moment of course, she is in fact a strapping, well-built girl of above average height, with thick curling russet-brown hair framing a most attractive wide-eyed, full-lipped face. She is wearing a blue dress. The pretty face is flushed at this moment, after Gerald’s bland statement, her cheeks as pink as the ripe-fruit lips. Not surprisingly perhaps; no girl of that age (Amanda is 18) or indeed any age likes to have it announced to the lunch guest that she is shortly to be caned.
‘Indeed,’ continues Henry not at all content to let such a conversational plum wither and die from lack of attention. He is keen for details. ‘What… ah… has she done then?’ Smiling at the young lady in question. ‘Or of course not done?’
‘Tell him,’ Gerald says to Amanda. ‘I must say this pie’s not too marvellous. Not that I would ever complain.’
‘Uh…’ Amanda has Henry’s, Mr Lanford’s, full attention as Gerald pokes about at what is on his plate. ‘Uh…’ This is awful. She knows she is blushing bright red. ‘I… overslept. And… so Mr Musgrove overslept. Cos I didn’t take in his tea.’
‘So we were all behind this morning.’ Henry is looking up from his plate. ‘And what she hasn’t told you is that it wasn’t the first time. So she’s got to have a little reminder. On that pretty thing she’s sitting on.’
Henry Lanford takes a forkful into his mouth and chews rapidly. ‘I say! But of course a girl’s got to get herself organised. I expect you’ll remember after Mr Musgrove’s given you the cane, though, Amanda. The cane on a girl’s bottom. Ouch! I mean a girl’s bottom is very sensitive. I should imagine. Eh, Amanda? Had it before, have you?’
Amanda has filled the full-lipped mouth with meat pie, perhaps protectively so that she can’t answer. Wide-eyed she nods. Gerald Musgrove, though, is ready with some detail. ‘Oh yes, she’s had it before. Once or twice — or maybe more, eh Amanda? For various shortcomings that I’m afraid 18-year-old girls seem to be subject to. Not getting up in the morning being only one. She’s had it on her hand too. Two hands. But generally we settle on the sit-upon, don’t we Amanda dear. Amanda’s got such a nice ripe round one that really one feels obliged to make use of it.’
‘Oh of course.’ Does Henry’s voice sound strained? As he does his best to keep the excitement out of it. Henry doesn’t have a girl like Amanda. A girl house-guest or ward or whatever you want to call her. So this sort of talk, generating amazing images in his mind, can get his blood racing. He produces a short laugh. ‘Yes. I’ve… ah… noticed. She does have something there all right. A very well-built girl. Quite a temptation I should imagine in that regard. Her rear divisions. Ha-ha!’
She only gets it when she deserves it of course.’ Gerald pushes away his plate. ‘I hope Mrs Wiggins has done better in the pudding line. But Amanda can deserve it quite often. Can’t you, Amanda darling?’ Under the table his hand reaches for Amanda’s thigh and squeezes.
Henry’s head is full of marvellous visions. Of this marvellous Amanda. ‘Down here, would that be? Her caning. Or up in her room? And… ah…’ this is a most important point, in fleshing out those visions, ‘that would be with her dress up, would it? And over her knickers? Or…?’
‘We mostly do it in the drawing room. Don’t we, my dear. Sometimes in her room, but mostly down here. And… well, we do tend to take her knickers down. Don’t we, Amanda. Dress up and knickers down. On those lovely bare cheeks.’
This is almost too much for Henry Lanford. He gives a nervous laugh. ‘I can see I should really get a young lady myself. I must confess these disciplinary aspects appeal. Most strongly. And of course having a young lady about the place is very civilising. Yes. Certainly one like your delightful Amanda here.’
Gerald Musgrove raises his eyebrows at ‘civilising’. Perhaps that is not what he sees as Amanda’s prime role in his house. Perhaps indeed Henry Lanford would not himself be primarily concerned with a ‘civilising’ presence. No, a girl like this Amanda clearly has essentially a pleasure-giving role. The very great pleasure of keeping her up to scratch for one thing.
‘How was that pie, Mr Musgrove?’ Mrs Wiggins has come in to remove the plates. ‘Ah… good,’ says Gerald. ‘There have been compliments all round.’ He makes a face as she retreats. Amanda blinks big brown eyes. Hopefully they have stopped talking about that most embarrassing and hateful subject now. And please God Mr Lanford is going to clear off after lunch. Before Mr Musgrove… gets to work. He wouldn’t do it in front of Mr Lanford. Would he? Though the thought is impossible it is not wholly impossible to imagine that Mr Musgrove could. She squirms her bottom on the chair. Mrs Wiggins has returned, with an apple crumble.
‘This looks good,’ Henry says, tackling his portion. But the apple crumble is not going to be in the same league, conversation-wise, as that other. ‘So she brings you tea in bed, Gerald. Mmm… You are the lucky chap. In her… ah ‘jamas would that be?’
‘She’s supposed to bring it,’ corrects Gerald. ‘As I’ve indicated she’s not completely reliable. And as for dress — early morning attire — what we normally have is pyjama jacket but not the bottoms. The top only. And a pair of high-heeled court shoes. To add a smart touch. That’s it, isn’t it my dear?’
Amanda wants to keep her eyes down on her plate. She briefly raises them, to nod a hot-faced agreement. Can’t this Mr Lanford think of anything else?
Henry is picturing the scene. Marvelling at it. Pyjama jacket only. With the high heels. Fantastic. Truly fantastic. He laughs his nervous little laugh. ‘My word! I wouldn’t mind having that myself in the mornings. A young lady… in only her pyjama top. My word. I probably wouldn’t mind if occasionally she was a little late with it. Though of course, like you Gerald, I would have to give her a little reminder. The cane. In fact like that… she’s all ready for it, isn’t she? I mean her bottom… all set… You can just bend her over the bed… But you prefer to wait, I understand. And do it down here.’
‘Mostly,’ confirms Gerald. ‘As a general rule. Yes, that wasn’t so bad. I like a bite of apple crumble. Yes you see, Henry, it’s the waiting. Making her wait for it. That adds a whole dimension to the caning. If I gave it to her right away it’d be over and done with, wouldn’t it? All right she’s going to have a sore bum for a bit, but nothing of what you might call mental anguish. Whereas if she has to wait till after lunch… Well, she’s got all the morning to think about it. Hasn’t she, Amanda dear?’
‘Yes, Mr Musgrove.’ Amanda has finished. The apple crumble was good. But with all this awful and highly embarrassing conversation she hasn’t really been able to enjoy it. Not to mention of course what is shortly to come. After lunch.
‘Oh yes, I do see that,’ Henry Lanford agrees. ‘But what you could do of course… would be to give her a caning right away — and then another one in the afternoon. That way you could — ha-ha — have your cake and eat it as it were.’
Amanda looks somewhat sick. How can Mr Lanford… Gerald Musgrove shakes his head. ‘I don’t imagine your young lady would think much of that, Henry. What do you think, Amanda dear? Would you like to go and stay with Mr Lanford for a bit and try it?’
Amanda vigorously shakes her head. He’s not serious, is he? Henry Lanford is perhaps wondering the same thing. What a fantastic notion! ‘Er… I wasn’t really putting it forward. I meant only from the theoretical point of view. No, if I had her for a bit, Gerald, a sort of holiday… Well naturally I’d follow your own most excellent methods and regulations to the letter.’
Gerald shakes his head owlishly. ‘I’m not sure she’s really sufficiently trained for another man’s house yet. What with not being able to get up in the mornings and various other shortcomings. I’d hate to impose her on another fellow. I mean it would reflect on me, wouldn’t it? Old Gerald’s not done much of a job here you’d be saying.’
Taking their cue from the host they rise from the table, with Henry protesting that of course he would never dream of doing any such thing and really he would very much like to try her just as she is. They go outside, into Gerald’s splendid garden. Over lunch the weather has improved quite remarkably: all that dismal grey cloud has rolled away to leave bright blue sky and warm sun. ‘It must have been Mrs Wiggin’s meat pie, having a miraculous effect on the weather,’ Gerald says. He leads them over to the swimming pool.
With the sun shimmering on the surface of the aquamarine water it looks most inviting. ‘A lovely afternoon for a dip now,’ observes Gerald as they stand on the paved surround. He has his arm round Amanda’s slim waist. Amanda doesn’t answer. It does look inviting… but there is Mr Lanford. Mr Musgrove makes her swim in the nude and she doesn’t fancy that in front of the guest. The hand slides down to her ripe bottom-cheeks.
‘Amanda’s not the greatest swimmer in the world but she’s improving,’ Gerald tells Henry. His hand is working sensuously at Amanda’s rear. ‘No, not the greatest swimmer you’ve ever seen but Amanda has got the most marvellous thighs and buttocks. Amanda darling, why don’t you take off your things and show our guest?’
‘No!’ A low, tense voice. Amanda has been expecting something like this. ‘No please… I shouldn’t. Not… right after lunch. You can get cramp.’
Gerald pulls her round, to get both arms round the delightful girl. The first hand is still working at her bottom under the thin blue-and-white striped dress and Henry Lanford is now in a position to see it. ‘Yes possibly,’ Gerald says. ‘Certainly after that pie that our dear lady served up. But you don’t have to go in right away. Just take your things off so that Mr Lanford can see you. So he can see that lovely backside — which of course regretfully is going to get the cane a little bit later, is it not?’
Amanda makes a despairing wail. ‘Isn’t that right, Henry? You’d like to have a look at lovely Amanda?’ Henry Lanford says it is, it most certainly is. He has gone somewhat red in the face, with in front of his eyes what Gerald is doing to Amanda’s bottom. Henry puts his hands in his pockets — to make less obvious the fact that he now has got a sizeable erection.
Gerald relinquishes his hold on Amanda and she has to do it. Take her clothes off. How awful. Worse than having the cane. Well in a way. Not worse than having the cane in front of Mr Lanford of course. Isn’t he going to go? Please God make him go before she has to have the cane. But right now… Oh this is really awful… The two men have sat down in the pool chairs. For the show…
Try and pretend it’s not happening, that Mr Lanford is not here staring at her. What a hope, though. The thin, full-skirted dress coming up over her head. Amanda does not have a lot on underneath. Because it is summer and also because Mr Musgrove does not want her with a lot on underneath. Brief white knickers and bra… and today a slim white suspender belt with white stockings. The latter items in fact were especially for Mr Lanford’s visit. She’s sometimes allowed to go bare-legged but with Mr Lanford coming to lunch she has to be smart, Mr Musgrove said. Did he have in mind perhaps, when he said that, making her undress like this for Mr Lanford? Because now standing hot-faced and wanting to curl up in a ball, like a hedgehog, but having to stand straight and upright and let Mr Lanford see her lovely ripe figure in her skimpy underthings, standing like this Amanda hears Mr Musgrove say:
‘Just keep the stockings and suspender belt on for the moment, Amanda. Take the rest off of course. But you do look so fetching in just the stockings and belt.’
How awful. Like some awful strip-tease performer in front of the two men, a strip-tease performer obliged to give a private performance. How sickening. Amanda does feel quite sick. ‘Look… this is really… awful…’ she despairingly pleads to Mr Musgrove.
Henry Lanford is looking bug-eyed. At the ripe tits in the skimpy bra, at the even skimpier knickers taut over the bulge of her mound, at everything in fact. ‘Of course it’s not,’ Gerald says encouragingly. ‘Not at all. Come on. Unless of course you’d rather have the caning now. Out here, bent over the lounger.’
Oh Jesus. Amanda’s trembling hands go at once to her bra-strap. Releasing her splendid treasures from their confinement. Pulling the bra off. The marvellous boobs jut out, heavy but firm, rose-red nippled, sagging only the merest fraction now they are unsupported. Don’t look at Mr Lanford… as her hands go now to her knickers. Sliding them down… She has to bend… her big nude boobs are briefly pendant, swaying as she gets the scanty garment off over one foot and then the other. And then… upright again. Don’t look at anyone, anything… Mr Musgrove says, ‘There, Henry. What d’you think of that!’
Henry Lanford is almost too bemused, bedazzled, to speak. His eyes are hot on the thick russet-brown bush at the centre of all this stunning flesh; hot also on the ripely inviting semi-erect nipples. What is happening in the front of his trousers is nobody’s business. At least he’s now sitting. ‘Marvellous,’ he finally manages. ‘What a stunner, an absolute stunner.’
‘Turn round, dear,’ Gerald requests. ‘Let Mr Lanford see your bottom. Amanda’s rear view, Henry, is quite as good as the front.’ The lovely girl complies, her head spinning round as she does. How can Mr Musgrove be so awful, showing her off like this. Like an awful, common strip-tease performer. Like a prize cow almost…
‘Look at that, Henry. Did you ever see anything to compare with it? Be honest. Just look at those haunches. Come closer, Amanda dear. Let Mr Lanford have a feel. Come on, back up…’
In the house again. ‘We’d really better give you that caning, Amanda. Hadn’t we? I mean I’m sure you’d hate me to forget it!’ Gerald Musgrove laughs briefly at his little joke. Henry Lanford joins in. He hasn’t gone of course. Oh no. Not yet. Not with Amanda still to have her caning. ‘We’ll do it now,’ Gerald says. ‘Before tea. I wonder what Mrs Wiggins has got for us. Her teas are quite good, aren’t they, Amanda dear?’ His arm has come round her waist. To guide her now towards the drawing room.
Amanda is fully clothed again. Her same things back on: the pretty blue-and-white striped dress, the white stockings, etc. It is a quarter to four. They have been outside for close to two hours. Two awful hours at the pool, with no clothes on. Amanda that is, Mr Musgrove and Mr Lanford have of course remained fully clothed. But Amanda, with all her clothes off, has had a really dreadful time. Not dreadful in the being-caned sense of dreadful but awful kind of dreadful. Such as being made to practice her swimming strokes lying on the lounger. On her front in the breast-stroke that was supposed to be what he wanted. What he wanted of course was to embarrass her. To make her show everything to his friend Mr Lanford. After the swimming positions on the lounger there were hand-stands. ‘Legs together… and now… part them, Amanda… Come on…’
Into the drawing room. ‘Put your cushion out,’ Gerald tells her. He is going to cane her in front of Mr Lanford. She has guessed that ever since lunch. After what she has had outside… but it’s not true to say it can’t be any worse. A caning is of course worse. Because of the hurt of it. The hurt this time plus the knowledge that Mr Lanford, a stranger, is watching. Watching her squirm and writhe. Hearing her yell out, because she can’t help yelling out. Mr Musgrove always uses this special cushion for a caning in the drawing room. She has to kneel on it; lie on it. Different positions. With her skirt up and her knickers down. With that cane whipping down…
‘I always use this cushion, Henry. In here at least. That’s good. Amanda dear. Now get down. Kneeling first. Get your skirt up. Head down. That’s it…’
The cane whips in. Amanda yells out. On her hands and knees, she still has her knickers up at the moment. Just her skirt pulled up over her back. The cane has come in across the knickered bottom which with the skimpiness of the knickers is only partly covered. So the cane has sliced down onto both taut-stretched knicks and bare flesh alike.
‘Less noise, young lady,’ Gerald instructs… and slices another one down. Amanda’s cry splurts out again regardless of the admonition. They are red-hot stingers he has given her — but in any case if she were able to suffer in silence he would only do it even harder. ‘If you’re going to make all that noise,’ Mr Musgrove says, ‘you can take your knickers down. Come on.’
Amanda gets up on her knees to do it. She knows there is no point in arguing or pleading. Her face is flushed bright red, the big brown eyes already looking decidedly watery. She avoids looking at anyone as she works the knickers down off of her humming bottom: the big brown eyes can’t focus anyway because they are full of tears. Back down on her hands and knees. The two stripes that Gerald’s cane has produced can now be admired in their entirety. Henry is almost overcome with excitement.
When the caning is finally over (and it does take quite a little while what with all the different positions Mr Musgrove likes to put Amanda in) he hauls the distressed girl to her feet. There certainly are proper tears now of course. From those breath-stopping cane strokes and also from everything else: this whole awful afternoon, Mr Lanford, all of it. Gerald draws the lovely girl close in a nice tight hug. She is shaking all over, in quite a state. Holding Amanda tight Gerald grins over her shoulder at his friend.
‘Well what d’you think, Henry? Would you really like to take her as she is? Sort of half-trained. For a couple of days.’
Speech is for the moment beyond Henry Lanford. He can only vigorously nod his head. ‘Well if you’re sure… you could take her when you go. For two or three days. Plus nights of course. I think that might be very good for her. As long as you’re not too soft. I mean she does need the cane.’
Gerald slides one hand down onto Amanda’s throbbing bottom. Her skirt is still yanked up, her knickers are still down. His hand clasps one red-striped cheek. ‘OK Amanda dear? I shall miss you of course but I’m sure it would be good for you. And a nice break. D’you want to go up and put some things in a bag. Your pyjamas…’