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Friday, 8 March 2019

The Cure

From Blushes 45
The car park in the centre of the town had not been particularly well used that Wednesday afternoon, and Celia found a spot easily. She went into the shopping precinct and managed to have many male eyes (and some female one’s for that matter) follow her progress appreciatively, gratefully even in most cases. Grateful that they had seen such a delightful figure and perfect specimen of womanhood, because without doubt, twenty-two-year-old Celia took a lot of beating in the attractive looks department. The full thrusting roundness of her tightly encased bottom with just the slightest exaggeration of hips swaying as she stepped out to the busier part of the precinct, was bound to draw attention. Old men, young men, middle-aged men, dykes and butches all studied enviously the curvaceous young woman as she passed them. More than one wife was heard to urge a husband to ‘Come on,’ exasperatedly.
‘I’ve just been reminded of what life was all about,’ one rheumy old man moaned.
Celia did her shopping and then returned to the car feeling particularly pleased with her afternoon’s shopping.
‘Good afternoon Mannering,’ she did not disguise the fact that she was not really pleased to be accosted by her father’s senior verger.
‘Been shopping have we?’ his Uriah Heep attitude positively sickening.
‘Yes thank you Mannering,’ she set a tight lip.
‘Going to the police station now are we?’ his unctuous smile now belied by the piercing accusation in his eyes.
Celia’s breath caught in her throat and her pretty features went decidedly puce. She looked around her in haste. This mouthy fool was likely to stir up all sorts of trouble.
‘Care to explain what you mean?’ she asked but a little less crisply than she wanted to.
‘I was trying out the new video camera… you know they are letting us make a short film for free,’ his wheedling tones said. ‘And I never knew that a zoom lens could pick up such detail,’ his voice was perhaps not so wheedling as positively accusing.
Celia’s pink tongue licked over her soft mouth.
‘Go on,’ she invited and tried to retain that coolness, but her insides were quailing and her tummy was responding to a deep sense of conscience.
‘What is it, kleptomania?’ he used the same sort of phrase as if he was speaking to her about an illness; but he was very sarcastic in tone.
Celia had always been considered the positive-thinking type of girl… the tweeds and jodhpurs brigade, but now she had to admit that the wind had been knocked out of her sails. Damn these firms and their free trial offers to sell equipment!
She thought that she had done rather well since she had started the impulsive stealing, and it had come more as a daring act rather than because she wanted something. Today, despite it being fairly quiet in the shops, she had, she thought, been better than in a crowd. Jewellery that she did not really want had slipped like a magician’s sleight of hand into her bag.
‘So, police station now is it?’ he repeated.
‘I’d rather not,’ she had to refuse him.
‘Oh I’m sure you would,’ his face had set very serious now. ‘What would the people say and think. Especially you being the Canon’s daughter… and the Chairlady of so many do-good committees.’
‘Alright, you’ve made your point,’ she fought the tears of anger from her eyes.
They waited until two other couples had driven away…
‘Shall we say my place tomorrow afternoon… four o’clock,’ he said and there was a wealth of meaning in his suggestive tone.
‘Oh Lord, no,’ she breathed.
‘If you are into saying your prayers I’d suggest you thought out something more appropriate than ‘No’, he smiled.
‘It’s a damn clear copy… amazing what video can do,’ he held up the black box containing her deeds and a shudder rippled through her.
She watched him drive away and then seemed to come to her senses… she would have time to think about it. Think about what? She asked herself as she turned out of the car park. She did not want to think about it. She had often had to sit on committees and listen to Mannering’s one argument as to what to do to offenders. ‘Prisons are full,’ he would say, ‘It’s time we went back to the good old-fashioned methods and raised a few stripes where they would do most good.’ And it was surprising the number of people on the Parochial Council who agreed with him.
By the time she arrived at the vicarage, her face was very, very red because Celia had no doubt what Mannering would want to do to her… ‘Oh Lord, no,’ she moaned for the second time that day. How could she go to the police. How could she go to her father even. How could she go any bloody where except to Mannering’s cottage the following day.
She could virtually feel his eyes on her as she drove into the short driveway. It had been difficult for her to relax at any time. Even as she got out of the car, she felt her own body pulling the cheeks of her delightful bottom tightly together. One thing Celia was and that was a realist. If only Mannering was not so unpleasant in his ways, then she might even confess to lending herself to this afternoon, and even that private thought made her blush. She had not been here before, and was pleasantly surprised at the neat lay-out of his living room. Like his attitude, he was meticulous.
She was not surprised to see the thin cane lying on the table, that one instrument spoke volumes! Surprised no; shocked. Yes!
He put his proposition without any preamble whatsoever and as she sat opposite, Celia found her defences getting weaker by the second. She had nodded her agreement although she hated the idea of her curvy torso being under his direction, and he had lost that wheedling attitude now; he was very, very firm and his approach was positive as it could be.
If she had been shocked by the sight of the cane, it was nothing in comparison to the way she felt after fifteen minutes in his company. ‘So we do understand one another Celia?’ he used her Christian name freely now. After that fifteen minutes he was tying up any loose ends or else ideas she might have.
‘Yes, Mr Mannering,’ she whispered softly.
‘Care to repeat what you feel the understanding is between us?’
He was enjoying the fact that he was getting her to underline and emphasise her own role.
‘Yes. I am to show you an express willingness to accept punishment… physical punishment on my bottom…’
‘Your bare bottom,’ he interrupted her.
‘Yes, quite so,’ her voice was decidedly soft with self-anguish and shame.
‘Please continue,’ he told her all very cosy and nice as he pressed his fingertips together as though considering her remarks carefully.
‘And I am to be very… very obedient to do whatever I am told to do by you. Without trying to show any argument… I am to lend myself completely to whatever you suggest so that I am reminded just how naughty I have been,’ she could have choked.
Strangely enough, it seemed to her that something in her system was actually ‘enjoying’ this awful humiliation of her body and mind.
She was, in the following ten seconds standing next to his armchair… his hand was high beneath her skirt and his smooth surprisingly cool palm was caressing the tapering silk skin of her thigh, very close to her loose-legged panties. Her face was burning with the deep shame of having to stand so still whilst Mannering enjoyed the soft curves of her body.
‘I think we ought to have your clothes off… please keep the bra and panties on will you?’
Celia had no false thoughts that these items would remain with her. But with a stoic determination, she slipped from her clothes and stood terrible in her frustrated helplessness, with the stockings and suspender belt slowly being slipped down by her own fingers.
When he directed, she knelt in front of the settee.
‘Reach out with your arms,’ he said.
Celia winced slightly when she heard the cane whistle through the air… it was a sound of harsh intent. She moaned lightly when her face registered her real anguish as he slowly eased her panties down to the halfway mark between knees and buttocks… her face was into the cushions and her arms were indeed thrust out each side of her helplessly posed body.
‘Oh yes, much better without the panties,’ he assured her.
She clamped her teeth tightly together as his hands enjoyed the soft massage of a perfectly rounded pair of cheeks. She would never envisage this in a million years, Mannering actually being able to feel her rounded nates as freely and for as long as he chose. Handfuls of her behind were squeezed gently and not so gently in turn and she still retained perfect silent acceptance.
‘A little spanking just to get you warmed up,’ he warned her.
His palm came down and although he had said a little spanking, Celia realised that this was not to be so little. It stung and both cheeks had to take a fair amount of tingling heat before he had finished and was satisfied with the reddened state of her arse. The cheeks were twitching without her having to will it; the nerves themselves had taken over all movement now and he happily watched the reacting nates as they responded to the unaccustomed stinging heat spreading all over them.
‘Now I think we shall have you kneeling in the chair,’ he told her.
Haplessly, she climbed into the chair cushion itself. Her arms were ordered to a site that would keep them well out of the way.
‘Twelve strokes is a nice round number… to start with.’
She again bit her teeth tightly together because she resolutely refused to comment one way or the other. He was obviously in no haste, and she found that kneeling as she was, her bottom humiliatingly roundly pushed back, was getting tiresome. But Mannering was enjoying the view of the little soft area between her thighs. Two lips in their own right presenting the portal of her centre of pleasure, as he called it. He would have to let her know that he enjoyed fondling such centres. Before or after, was the only question in his mind. It did not seem fair to have it so nicely thrusting back, at the very base of her bottom and not letting her be aware that it was actually exposed. Celia’s eyes popped open and she almost jumped a mile when the soft-lined centre was being caressed by his artful fingertips. The reaction of her body was the same as her mental state. Whether it was because her bum had been so thoroughly warmed, or because her sex was so available, she did not know. What she did know and had to admit to herself was that the distinct thrill of contact with her quim by his fingers, sent a deep heated throb of randy fruitiness deep into the core of her whole being.
He smiled when he saw how she seemed to emphasise her own backward thrust! Surprise, surprise! The usually cool Celia was not so ice cold as she appeared to be. She was enjoying his caresses. This did not disappoint him, on the contrary, he found a certain egotistic thrill that he was able to reduce her to such an honest state. So he gently and positively continued the touching up of his beautiful semi-naked charge. Her resolve to remain silent was an impossible resolution now. Her knees had seemed to part and the further thrust of her reddened bottom was most decidedly improved. There was an air of begging willingness in her pose now, and she could only moan as the hot erotic waves eddied through her.
‘I think you are enjoying this part of your punishment,’ he broke the silence.
But Celia was very turned on and the shame took secondary place.
‘Yes… I am, I can’t help it,’ she moaned in a sobbing voice.
‘Yes… mmmm… I think all women liked to be touched here,’ he was speaking as though philosophically and with response to sex himself.
‘Don’t stop… please,’ she choked.
Hotter and hotter… damper and wetter, her love well grew in sheer tormenting hunger. He really felt the soft mouth and whether by accident or design his fingers stroked incessantly over and over, round and round the sensitive bud of her hard clitoris.
‘I think you ought to agree to me playing with your pretty titties,’ he suggested craftily.
‘Yes… yes if you want to,’ she choked again.
Her breasts had been crushed against the back of the chair… she eased them away…
‘There… please… if you really want to, play with my pretty titties,’ she moaned as his hand enveloped the two delights one at a time… and he was still able to stroke and feel the soft labia…
I’m still going to have to cane this naughty bottom,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes… yes… please… later… please now… just don’t stop playing with my titties and pussy,’ she begged.
Celia could not believe the high pinnacle of erotica that she had been catapulted to… she was delightfully amazed that her body could be so beautifully attuned to his lovely feeling of sheer ecstasy… and she did not give a damn that it was Mannering who was doing it either.
He had to let her use his small bathroom some ten minutes later and when she came down her eyes showed that she had gone through a most fantastic experience.
‘You’re better at this sort of thing than I imagined,’ she quietly complimented him.
‘Thank you,’ and still he was pleased that she had enjoyed it.
‘Are you ready to cane me now?’ she blushed at her own masochistic heat.
‘I think we shall forego that,’ he told her and to her amazement he gave her the video, the damning evidence that brought her here.
‘What’s this?’ she asked surprised.
‘It’s yours,’ he felt that he could not continue with the veil of the video hanging over them.
She threw it onto the small burning fire and they both watched it burn…
‘Now; when are you going to cane me?’ she smiled.
He was genuinely surprised…
‘I have nothing to keep you here now,’ he told her.
‘Oh yes you have Mr Mannering. You have that cane, and I want it. I want to feel it crisping my bottom to a fever pitch of heat.’
As she knelt on the settee, she ‘ooow-ed’… ’yeeoooowed’, and made every sound that a woman would make who was receiving a caning, but not once did she suggest that they stopped.
She still visits Mannering and she still gets her bottom spanked, caned and even tawsed… he tries to bring her to a height that her body hungers for, and the very nice thing as far as Celia is concerned is that he seems to have effected a cure because whenever she goes into the shops, her arse is usually too full of sting for her to worry about the pretty things that she could so easily steal if she wanted to.

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