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Tuesday, 24 September 2019

High Flyer

From Janus 130
Miranda Provost was a high-flier in a venerable merchant bank in the City. Today she was working away from the office for what she called one of her own personal ‘rest and recreation’ days. Such times were almost always illuminated with adventure, and usually fulfilled themselves in the breathtaking form of excitement she craved.
Over the years Miranda had minimised the ‘uncertainty’ element by a carefully phrased briefing to the temping agency she approached. Now she awaited her latest ‘fledgling’. She’d been able to glean that the girl was called Gabrielle Daniels, twenty years old with a poor academic record and low self-esteem, fired from two previous jobs. Just the type! Miranda’s enduring success on the money markets was in no small part due to a sense of intuition which rarely failed her.
The flat she had borrowed for this latest encounter was awful enough. But it would do. Her activities created a fair amount of noise, so when she had finished she liked to quietly depart, leaving the owner to face any strange looks. Now here the girl was. Miranda saw her from the window. Perfect. Extremely pretty, delightful figure; exactly what she’d been hoping for…
Gabrielle Daniels wasn’t sure why the agency had sent her here — usually it was to some office where she did filing and made tea from nine till five-thirty. They’d told her that this Ms Provost woman was some kind of executive who needed a bit of office work done. But it was a funny place for an office. Funny woman, too — she wanted Gabrielle to change into her favourite dress when she got here. Okay, as long as she pays the agency and I get my whack, she thought — little realising just how literally that wish was soon to be granted! Gabrielle trudged up a load of stairs, then rang the bell. The woman didn’t say much, just pointed to a room and said, ‘Get changed, please.’
Well, at least she was polite about it, if a bit brisk. Like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, really. Gabrielle changed into her shocking blue PVC outfit. Well, it was her favourite. She’d felt a bit rebellious when she’d stuffed it in her bag, but what the hell, she was a temp not a fashion model and she was only doing what she’d been asked.
Dressed in vivid shiny blue, the girl walked into the room where the woman was working.
Oh, excellent, thought Miranda, when she saw the girl. These awkward young things have about as much dress sense as a myopic armadillo. It made things so much easier. She sprang to her feet with a show of outrage. ‘How dare you come here looking like that? What on earth d’you think you’re wearing?’
‘I only bought it the other day,’ the girl protested, face flushing. ‘I like it and the agency said that you said…’
‘Go!’ said the woman, and turned her back.
‘What?’
‘Go! Get out of my sight. I’ll phone the agency for another girl.’
‘Please.’ Gabrielle was almost in tears. ‘I… lost my last two jobs.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Please, I don’t want to sign on any more. They’ll ask me all those questions again, why I’m not working and things.’
My God, thought Miranda, she is going to cry. She stepped around the girl in the frightful dress, regarding its sheeny blueness with extreme distaste through her sensible spectacles. Young Gabrielle couldn’t know that, far from being coldly dismissive, the woman was eyeing her body in the glossy fabric and very much liking what she saw.
‘You’re lazy and unsure of yourself.’
‘I’m not!’ the girl retorted hotly.
‘Don’t you dare answer back!’ Gabrielle felt a frisson of pleasure as the girl flinched.
She tugged at the offending dress, then trailed delicate fingers over its shiny surface. ‘Perhaps I might keep you,’ she said speculatively. ‘But I’d have to sharpen you up a bit first.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It never failed to work for me when I was younger. And I think it will work for you.’
‘Sharpen me up? How d’you mean?’
‘Of course, you can always go back to the agency…’
‘No!’ The girl raised her bowed head. Their eyes met. ‘I need something,’ she admitted with a sigh. ‘I don’t know what. Oh, I’m just hopeless.’ Tears threatened again.
‘Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself,’ said Miranda. Reaching out, she cupped the girl’s right buttock through the dress.
Miranda flinched. The cow was groping her arse!
‘You have a lovely bottom, girl. Put it in my hands and I’ll make a success of you. You’ll be running offices like nobody’s business within two years. Then you’ll be the one doing the firing.’
Actually, the woman’s hand felt warm on her buttock, and sent little thrills to Gabrielle’s genitals as the fingers gently squeezed.
‘H-how?’ she asked, a little breathless.
‘By a certain amount of pain and humiliation. But both are very strengthening. We can start your office management course right away, if you like. In addition I will teach you dress sense, deportment and discernment. Bend over.’
‘P-pardon?’
‘How can you learn to give orders,’ snapped her mentor, ‘if you don’t know how to obey? Bend over!’
Gabrielle hesitated, then bent forward. She felt the dress tighten over her buttocks. The woman stroked them, giving more squeezes and fondles through the cool, slithery fabric. Perfectly delicious!
‘Mmm. Excellent. Now kneel up on the couch. I’m going to cane them.’
‘Cane what?’
‘Your buttocks, young lady. Do wake up! In that ghastly dress. You need at least a dozen just for wearing it. Come on, kneel up!’
Gabrielle found herself doing so. It felt really daft, sticking her bum out. What the hell was happening? Then she saw the cane; a bloody great long thing with a crooked handle. The woman slashed it through the air with a terrible hwopp-hwopp sound, and the girl shut her eyes in the nearest she’d been to praying since childhood.
‘You’re not going to…?’ she faltered. ‘I mean, you’re not going to…?’
‘I most certainly am. Keep that bottom well pushed out, and perfectly still!’
Miranda stepped up to the tempting target, measured her distance, drew back her arm and brought the cane smartly in with a loud crack. The girl gave a shriek as the whippy wood struck hard across the crown of her buttocks in a streak of dull fire.
With a succession of lusty crack-crack-cracks which echoed around the walls the woman began to cane the shiny curves with brisk, measured strokes, bringing the whippy wand repeatedly in to slam against the drum-tight surface of the girl’s PVC-clad bottom.
Gabrielle felt as if that part of her was being attacked by hornets. She squirmed, jerked her hips, shifted her knees on the couch, frantic to evade the pain yet somehow not daring to wrench herself out from under it. The truth was, however, that after the first half-dozen strokes or so her buttocks seem to adapt themselves to the heavy stings, and it wasn’t really hurting too much.
‘All right, that’s warmed you up,’ said Miranda briskly. ‘Now let’s get down to business.’
‘No!’ The girl yelped as the woman’s hands pulled the tight skirt clear of her bottom. With her panties sunk into the valley between, each of her buttocks was now virtually bare. The moment was terrible for Gabrielle. Apart from the sheer embarrassment of showing that part of herself to a stranger, without the protection of the PVC this was surely going to hurt a good deal more than it had done so far.
It did. Miranda brought the cane in with a flick of the wrist, driving the slim shaft hard across the bared, brazen globes and tracing a livid track across the tender skin. Gabrielle screeched as the fiery flash scorched her rear. Four more times the cane hissed through the air, cracked across its target and swung back for the next delivery. The pain was excruciating, yet somehow the girl’s bottom absorbed it.
‘One more with your knickers on.’
Before Gabrielle could cry out a protest, her breath was expelled in a shriek as the cane swung in, harder than any stroke before, and streaked fire across her bottom.
‘Yowwww!’ she bawled. ‘I’ll tell on you, you kinky cow!’
‘Then tell,’ came Miranda Provost’s cool voice. ‘And if that’s what you’re going to do, I may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. You have a beautiful young body, but you’re extremely wilful, lazy and naughty. As you’re clearly intent on learning nothing, and throwing away your future, the last thing I can do before you march me off to the police station is to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.’
The girl began to move, as if to get up.
‘Stay down!’ the woman commanded.
And, despite her gasped, tearful threats, Gabrielle did. She gave a despairing moan as the woman deftly removed her last vestige of modesty by pulling down her knickers, completely baring her bottom.
The caning resumed. The girl’s jerky, staccato shrieks changed to gasps and groans as her body juddered to the cane-shocks stropping her naked behind.
Firm, steady strokes that hissed and bit, hissed and bit with the venom of a serpent. Yet the tears that streamed from Gabrielle’s eyes felt cleansing somehow, as if a silt of self-doubt and negativity were being washed out with them.
‘Stand up!’
Another command. By now Gabrielle was in a daze. She scarcely knew where or who she was, so radical was the experience she was undergoing. She realised that she was on her feet, holding the dress above her hips while the cane continued its work, the shaft sinking deeper into the softer target of her upright buttocks, creating a keener intensity of hurt.
When this further caning stopped, Gabrielle’s hands flew to her scorched buttocks and frantically rubbed. Surely it was over now? She was shaking with sobs, and seemed to have forgotten how to speak.
By now it must be said that Ms Miranda Provost, Chief Foreign Exchange Executive at Lascelles Merchant Bank, was feeling decidedly aroused. Although sufficiently heterosexual to enjoy laying men, especially those a few years younger than herself with fair hair and Nordic blue eyes, to have a beautiful girl such as this voluntarily under her control was enormously stimulating. It was the way she had planned it. The girl could walk out any time. She wasn’t being coerced against her will into receiving this punishment: the fact that she was still here was tacit acquiescence on her part.
The command for Gabrielle to remove her dress came rather breathlessly as the woman stepped back. She was tinglingly damp beneath the skirt of her power suit, and had every intention of getting damper before this session was over.
The girl removed the awful PVC dress. Naked, she was exquisite. Miranda put down the cane, sat on the settee and patted her lap. ‘Come over here, my pet,’ she murmured. Her voice had softened, and Gabrielle noted the change.
As Miranda pulled the now-naked girl across her lap, the warmth of the other’s belly and thighs heightened her pleasure. Gently at first, she began to spank the girl’s soundly-caned bottom, eliciting little squeals and shivery wriggles from her young charge.
Threats of police and mayhem had evaporated, as Miranda had known they would. The girl was smart enough to know she was deriving benefit from what was happening, that if she wanted a fresh start on the right road she’d be really stupid to make a fuss over a punished bottom. And, anyway, she had the weirdest feeling that it was doing her good.
Miranda’s hand rose and fell in an irregular rhythm, smacking smartly into the wobbling pillows of hot, cane-streaked bottom-flesh. She enjoyed the feel and texture of the girl’s perfect nether curves, taking time between spanks to stroke and feel, scenting a musky aroma that told its own story.
As her hand sped down and made contact yet again with a resonant smack, an ‘Oooch-ahhh’ and a shudder of the young body draped over her thighs, Miranda smiled serenely to herself. It was simply delicious.
‘Very well, Gabrielle,’ she said at last. ‘You may stand. The first part of your Office Management course is over.’
With little whimpers, the girl’s wobbling legs took her weight, and steadied. ‘Now stand there,’ Miranda continued, ‘while I write a report to your agency about the excellence of your work here today.’
‘B-but I haven’t done anything,’ came the bewildered voice.
‘Turn round and keep quiet, please. You may rub your bottom.’
‘Yes, Miss…’ The girl faltered.
‘Mistress will do. Yes, that’s better. Keep rubbing like that. I think you’ll find it will help.’ The woman continued to write.
Gabrielle sniffed as her sobs subsided. ‘I deserved that, I know I did. No one’s ever had the guts to do that to me before.’
‘Then we must do it again,’ Miranda murmured, signing her report with a flourish. ‘I’ll ask the agency for you. If you continue to do well like this, I might even find a permanency for you on my staff. Same time on Friday?’

5 comments:

  1. That is a face which is just crying out for the cane.

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  2. Bob here.
    Hear hear,anonymous.
    Indeed,a girl crying out for (and,one hopes,frequently crying because of) the cane.

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    Replies
    1. We don't like sulky looking girls. Sulky looking girls get a nasty stick across their bare bums to help liven up their ideas.

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  3. Bob here.
    Quite right,too. A sulky girl can very
    quickly become a smarting girl...with a little taste of the stick.

    ReplyDelete