Story from Roué 14
Julia Maitland and the shy, nervous Charles Carey had a strange but contented relationship. Widow and widower, to the outside world their friendship was probably platonic but the villagers, without exception, liked them so much that they were not overly curious what went on within the stone, ivy-covered walls of Charles’ small isolated house. Had they known, some of the details would have set the tongues a-wagging.
This afternoon, the diffident 52-year-old man watched, stomach churning, from behind a curtain as Julia’s little car stopped before the house. She saw him, so when she opened the door and extended her silken-clad leg, her left hand held the hem of her skirt back so that, before Charles’ eyes, it rode up above mid-thigh where a frilly suspender stretched tautly from the stocking-top, and up under the brief leg of her shadowed knickers above.
A thrill of excitement ran through her as she closed the car door and shook her skirt down. Charles’ presence behind the curtain meant that, once the coming charade was over, her skirt would be lifted, her knickers lowered, and her bare bottom soundly and satisfyingly spanked.
Until three months ago her clothes had never been lifted by a man in that house. Besides a couple of afternoon visits, three days a week they would share lunch and dinner — in between, the 35-year-old woman tidied Charles’ house and cooked their meals while he wrote sporadic newspaper pieces on West Africa, where he was an administrator before retirement. He paid Julia handsomely for her work — she accepted because, as he said, his pension had increased so much by its index-linking that he had far more money than he wanted for his simple needs.
But one evening after dinner their conversation, encouraged by several drinks, reached a more intimate level than ever before. Julia talked of her husband, killed in a hunting accident eleven years earlier.
‘Really he was only interested in gambling and the animals on the estate,’ she said. ‘He died leaving massive debts.’
‘You were neglected then?’
‘As a woman, yes — as an animal, no.’
‘What do you mean, my dear?’
‘Well, we had separate bedrooms, and he slept alone — except for the first night of our honeymoon, when he deigned to join me.’
‘It was, but he wasn’t sexless. When he… er… wanted me… always in the day or early evening, he would simply bend me over, wherever we were in the house.’
‘Not even a kiss or caress?’
‘No. He would put his left hand on the nape of my neck and push my head down, as his right hand dragged my dress up and roughly pulled my… er… panties to my knees. I had to stay in that position, my hands against the wall or on a chair, my bottom and… you know… my… er… private parts… exposed to his eyes.’
‘You poor dear.’
‘He then talked to me as he slowly undid the front of his trousers and…’
Charles’ eyes gleamed behind his glasses.
‘What sort of things did he say, Julia?’
‘Oh, I don’t think I could tell you, Charles!’
‘Well, that I had a lovely round, aristocratic… oh no, Charles!’
‘Yes… please go on!’
‘A lovely round, aristocratic…. arse… and that he liked a woman to wait for his… thing… with her knickers round her knees. Then he would crudely describe what he was going to do to me, and… my legs would be nudged as far apart as my stretched… er… knickers would allow, his hands would grip my hips and… he would thrust away savagely until he… he had finished!’
‘Then he would humiliate me in the harshest way. As he zipped himself up, he would ring for a servant. Quickly I had to pull my knickers up, feeling messy and unclean, drop my dress and appear unruffled as he ordered drinks. He said he liked the servants to see me blush.’
Charles was breathing heavily, which surprised Julia. She had always considered him to be… somehow… unrousable.
She smiled. ‘I’m sure your married life was very happy before the car accident.’
He nodded, but looked thoughtful.
‘What is the matter, Charles?’
‘Well, as you have been so honest, it is only right that I tell you that Brenda liked having her bottom spanked before we made love — and I’m afraid that I enjoyed smacking her.’
Julia put her hand to his cheek.
‘You silly old thing! Don’t look so much like a naughty boy — I like it too!’
And she told him of her first orgasm. Of how she noticed when she was seventeen at home in the vicarage, that perhaps once or twice a week, her father’s attitude in the late evening would abruptly change towards her mother. With minor criticisms — her hair was untidy — perhaps dinner was not to his satisfaction. Then he always said, ‘Go upstairs and wait for me, madame!’, and Julia’s mother obediently mounted the stairs, her shapely hips swaying, so it seemed, more than usual.
Consumed with a teenager’s curiosity, Julia slipped upstairs one night to the balcony outside her parents’ bedroom. She saw her mother enter and hasten to the mirror, undo the top buttons of her dress then stand, hands behind her back, facing the door.
When her father came in, he opened a drawer, took out a cane, and laid it on the dressing table. Then he walked over to her mother and undid some more dress buttons; his hands went into the dress, slowly turned, and drew out her big, rounded breasts, their nipples standing out stiff and proud. His hands stroked them for a while before he picked up the cane.
Then loudly he shouted, ‘Come in from the balcony, Julia, you’ll catch your death of cold there!’ Red-faced, the teenager came through the french windows, her head hanging.
Her green school knickers were pulled down, her pleated skirt flipped up her back and, face down across the bed, her father briskly spanked her bare bottom before she was sent to her room.
And as she heard the swish of the cane from the bedroom, and her mother’s subsequent groans and cries that were certainly not of pain, for the first time Julia’s hand satisfactorily quieted the strange hunger she had felt between her legs as her father’s hand had stung her young bottom.
When she finished her story, Charles was visibly excited, his lips and hands were trembling, and their new-found intimacy, although fragile, had given rise regularly to the game they were about to play three months later.
Charles greeted her at the door. Julia pecked his cheek and swirled past him in a cloud of musky perfume into his comfortable living room. His writing had obviously gone well — his desk at the window was tidy. Thus was his — she would make hers presently.
He studied her as a desultory conversation drifted between them. Her hair, cascading over her shoulders, glinted in the sunlight slanting through the window. The silk blouse, tucked over — tightly into her straight skirt, emphasised the downward curve of her full womanly breasts, and a small scarf knotted at her neck gave her a careless elegance. The man’s eyes slowly swept over the fullish hips, the shapely sheer-stockinged legs, and her simple half-heel court shoes.
‘Shall I make some coffee, Charles?’
The words snapped him away from his lascivious thoughts.
‘Yes, I would like that.’
Shortly after she had gone to the kitchen he heard the crash of breaking crockery.
‘Don’t worry,’ she called, ‘It’s only a cup and saucer!’
‘What do you mean,’ he shouted angrily, ‘“Don’t worry, Charles.” Come here, woman!’
Julia walked slowly into the living room and stood before him, eyes defiant.
‘Really, Julia, you are as clumsy as a schoolgirl!’
‘Don’t be insulting!’
‘Lower your voice, or I’ll treat you like a teenager and give you a pink, smarting bottom!’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
Charles rose, locked the door, and pocketed the key.
‘I would, and now I definitely will! Your knickers are coming down, Julia. If you have any on, that is! I can see your nipples through your blouse, so obviously you are not wearing a bra!’
‘For your information I am wearing knickers, but their sight is not for the pleasure of an ageing voyeur,’ she snapped.
‘We’ll see,’ he said as he moved close to her and started to undo her blouse.
‘Am I to be felt first?’
Without answering his fingers busied themselves until the blouse gaped open. With infinite gentleness his hands lifted her round satiny breasts clear, then his fingertips, touching light as a butterfly, stroked over the firm globes, pausing only to rotate lovingly the nipples that stood blunt, roused and rigid on their tiny pink-brown mounds.
‘Having a good feel?’ she gritted, but her belligerence was melting as her eyes softened and her full red lips parted.
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
His hands left her hungry breasts. He sat down.
‘Come here, Julia.’ She stood before him.
‘Raise your skirt!’
Her fingers plucked a fold on each side of her hips that wriggled slightly as the hem lifted — to above mid-thigh,
‘Like what you see, Charles?’ she whispered.
He nodded. Suspenders of pink lace were tautly clamped to the tan stocking tops. The heavenly scent of roused woman reached his nostrils.
‘Skirt up to your waist, Julia!’
It slid upwards. She tucked part of the hem into her waistband, clasped her hands behind her back and stood exposed; the few secrets left to her were not to remain so for long.
‘Your knickers are a pretty shade of pink, and the lace is nice and sexy. I have always approved of open-legged knickers.’
‘Well, it is easy…’ the back of his hand slid teasingly up her inner thigh, one finger probed up under the knicker leg and stroked along the wet, pouting parts therein… ‘to do that.’
She gasped. Her thighs started to open. He withdrew his hand.
‘But you are here for spanking, not stroking, aren’t you!’
And matching his deeds to his words he hooked his fingers into the waist elastic and drew her knickers down. They hung, half inside-out, at her knees. There was nothing left to be modest about.
From under the cushion he drew a leather-covered object.
‘At school we were punished with one of these on hands and bottom. It is whalebone, sheathed in leather, called a ‘ferrula’. Used viciously it can bruise badly, even split the skin. I stole it from the school’s resident sadist when I left.’
‘But you can’t use that on….’
‘Your tender white bum, Julia? Don’t worry, I won’t bruise those lovely round buttocks of yours, just make them all red, stinging and hot. Bend over the back of the armchair!’
Knees trapped by knickers she shuffled across and arched over, hands on the arms.
‘Further, woman, I want your bare bum sticking up, begging for the ferrula!’
She obeyed, until her legs were rigid, and only her toes touched the carpet. Her bottom curves arched up; the hair-covered fleshiness, squeezed heart-shape by the closed thighs, glistened wetly.
Charles stroked his left hand over the rounded flesh, then his right brought the ferrula about a foot above one cringing buttock, and with wrist alone made the springy whalebone beat a tattoo on Julia’s silky bum-cheek — tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. It was like machine-gun fire.
‘Part of your buttock, about five inches by three, is turning gloriously pink. You spanking will be at an end when both your bottom-cheeks are glowing bright red. So there’s a lot more spanking to do — tat-tat-tat-tat.
Julia’s frantic ‘oows’ and ‘oooohs’ and yelps died to a growling groan when he started on her other bum-cheek because his left hand moved from the small of her back and, palm upwards, slid under her body to move from one hanging breast to another, the ridges on his hand manipulating the stiffened nipples this way and that.
When her round bottom was all pink, smarting and slowly writhing, he dropped the ferrula to the floor. As his left hand continued the fondling, his other smoothed over and between Julia’s hot cheeks, down to that which was no longer heart-shaped, for the legs had parted, but even warmer and wetter… and wanting. His finger gave.
The writhing of the young woman’s bottom increased. Then it stopped. Her body trembled, then jerked to and fro; her bottom thrust violently back. And from her lips came a long ‘Aaaaaaahhhh!!’ as she slumped like a broken doll over the chair back.
Her hand reached for Charles’ trouser zip, but as always before, he firmly grasped the wrist, steered it away, then quietly left the room.
Hung over the chair, Julia dozed in her afterglow for 5 or 6 minutes before, in a leisurely fashion, she pulled her knickers up, dropped her skirt, wriggled her breasts back into her blouse — and put the ferrula into a drawer.
There was no hurry. Charles would be back in 30 minutes, no more, no less. It was his estimate of the time she needed to put herself back together again without any embarrassment.
As she patted her hair into place, she realised that she loved the dear sweet Charles Carey. But his shyness prevented a greater intimacy. Oh yes, spanking her was intimacy, but her conversation had excited him irresistibly into it the first time, and three months later he still needed a sign to prompt a repetition.
On his return, no mention would be made of the spanking again. He would be his usual courteous, withdrawn self, and they would pass a quiet evening together. Unless she stirred him with her words again!
They sat pensively sipping coffee after dinner. Julia took a deep breath and said softly, ‘My little bottom is still glowing from your spanking, Charles. It’s lovely.’
He coloured. ‘Julia, shall we go down to the Garden Centre tomorrow and…’
‘You do like seeing my knickers, don’t you, Charles?’, she interrupted.
Blushingly he nodded.
‘And lowering them to leave Julia’s fat little bum all bare and defenceless?’
‘It isn’t fat,’ he blurted, ‘It’s perfect! I never know whether to spank or stroke…’ — his voice, trembling, tailed away.
‘Would you like to hold me close, gather up the back of my dress, slip your hands inside my panties, and grip the cheeks of my arse?’, she teased.
‘Not your panties,’ he murmured softly, licking his dry lips, ‘Your knickers.’
She smiled. ‘Alright. Julia’s knickers!’
She crossed her legs. Her dress rode up, and the stretched frilly suspenders were in his sight again.
‘Ann is coming home for her 18th birthday in a month’s time. Will you come over for tea?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘What a little minx I have for a daughter! Perhaps it is just as well that her school disciplines them so strictly.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ Charles was breathing easier now.
‘Heavens, yes. She regularly has her bare bottom caned, but its effect is doubtful, because she actually enjoys it with the right master. There is one that she really fancies. She told me she often deliberately misbehaves in his class just for the pleasure of lifting her skirt for him. Sometimes I think she gets the same from him as I get from you after a spanking, maybe more.’
Charles clasped his hands to stop them shaking.
She pressed on. ‘Strange — after we all went out to lunch at Christmas she said you had lovely hands.’
He closed his eyes.
‘And that she’d go over your knee anytime.’
‘It’s true! And her bottom is like a peach, rounded, firm, and often has a pale pink bloom. Imagine, Charles, lifting her pleated skirt and seeing her knickered bottom!’
‘She wears tight skimpy briefs that only cover part of her bum. Think of dragging those to her knees and laying your hand across those naughty schoolgirl buttocks! You’d make them twitch, wouldn’t you!’
Charles’ head lowered and swayed from side to side. His hands gripped the chair arms tightly.
‘I can see her young nubile body squirming on your lap. And as you spanked her you could savour the thought of laying the ferrula across her mother’s bare bottom later, couldn’t you!’
Charles was fast losing control.
‘Oh, Julia… darling!’
‘What will you do, Charles, when I next misbehave in your house?’
‘I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…’
‘I’ll… I’ll… I’ll tan your bottom, woman! I’ll make you squeal and writhe!!’
‘Over my dress?’
‘Dress up, woman!’
‘Oh, Julia’s poor bottom! Will you also spank Ann’s bare bottom?’
At the mention of the schoolgirl his usual quiet courtesy returned a little.
‘If she is naughty in my house, and I have your permission to do so — yes.’
She saw his shyness drifting over him once more.
‘You know, Charles,’ she breathed gently, ‘beneath your kind exterior there is a strong, forceful man. And I’m a woman who likes that. We’re lucky that basically we are close friends — and I don’t mean this ‘just good friends’ nonsense. Charles, darling, I feel at ease and peace with you.’
His eyes, warm and a little damp, searched hers. He swallowed hard, and blushed once again. Drawing a key from his pocket he offered it to Julia.
‘P…p…please, Julia, go and open the small despatch case in my room.’
Puzzled, she did as she was asked. In the quietness of his room she put the case on his bed, unlocked it and lifted the lid. It was empty but for a note, dated four months earlier.
I want you to marry me, Julia. If you accept, come back and tell me. Otherwise, please go out of the door and drive away. I can’t bring myself to ask you to your face — you are so beautiful, I am so ordinary.
If your answer is no, think of me sometime — for I love you, Charles.
He sat in the quietness of the living room, brow wet with perspiration, face creased with anxiety, hands clasping and unclasping. The thudding of his heart was almost painful as his ears strained for the sound of her return to him or……
The snarl of her car starting shattered the oppressive silence, and as she drove away he slumped in his chair, and a blanket of lonely sadness enveloped him like a shroud.
For ten minutes nothing moved in the room but the hands of the clock… then the living room door slowly opened…
Julia entered and fixed her eyes on his. Sinuously, she wriggled her skirt to her waist, then bent forward and lowered her knickers to a lacy heap at her ankles. Daintily she stepped out of them, took the ferrula from the drawer, and walked over to him with swaying hips. With both hands she offered the ferrula to him.
‘I’ve taken my knickers off for you, darling. Now spank your future wife’s bare arse really hard, then take her to your bed and give her what she is longing for!’
‘B…b…but Julia, I… I… I heard the car!’
‘Well, you don’t think I am leaving it outside the front of your house all night, do you? I’ve a reputation to consider!’ And she smiled gently.He stood up, put his arms round her, and laughed.