Story from Janus 33 by Robin Martin. Long, but worth it, and some nice illustrations by Paula Meadows.
Jane stood in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, her bathrobe hanging open. Slipping first one shoulder off, then the other, she tossed it on the bed. She studied her reflection in the glass and was pleased with what she saw. Tallish and beautifully proportioned, Jane was proud of her figure and rightly so — long slender legs with thighs just swelling enough to make them shapely and erotic, and above them surprisingly broad and curvaceous hips narrowed to a slim waist. Higher again, well-formed breasts were firmly thrust out bouncing provocatively at the slightest movement. The warm bath had left her skin a glowing pink with the fragrance of the bath-oils radiating around her, the nipples on her breasts glistening and erect after the towelling. It was a juncture at which Jane very often paused for sensuous self-examination — an exercise in pure vanity.
She half-turned looking over her shoulder as her lovely bottom came into view. The bottom like the hips was generously broad and well-cushioned without being in any way flabby, the cheeks firm and delightfully rounded: a truly feminine bottom, every bit as shapely as one could hope for on a modern miss of 24 years of age.
The adorable body reflected in the mirror simply cried out to be fondled and caressed, but whilst Jane was only too anxious for such attentions she was quite determined that her fiancé Gerald would not see all this naked loveliness before their wedding night. It was not that she had scruples of a moral nature, just that she had heard of men having second thoughts about marriage after they had obtained what they wanted. She had no intention of that happening to her.
Jane was an ambitious, self-centred and avaricious young lady with two main aims in life: firstly, to marry a respectable member of the community well enough off to provide for her properly, and secondly, to advance her career to a solid position with a good income of her own. Marrying Gerald, a rising young solicitor would achieve the first aim, but this evening it was the second ambition that filled her thoughts. She had been invited to a dinner party at the home of Mr Hall, her employer, at which she had been told other members of the Hall family would also be present.
Halls Ltd was the largest department store in the local town and for nearly a year Jane had been sales supervisor of the Lingerie Department, a position of considerable prestige for someone of her age but she enjoyed the responsibility and worked hard to make the department successful.
However, since the staff Christmas dance two months earlier she had begun to have even grander ideas. Mr Hall senior, to whose party she was going, was Chairman of the firm, and his elder son, Lionel, the Managing Director. At the staff dance Lionel had monopolised Jane, flirting with her in a manner that had enraged his wife, Muriel. That evening and several times since he had hinted to Jane that if she played her cards right she might be promoted to Buyer for the department. The way he said it and his obvious infatuation with her made the inference plain.
Was it Mr Lionel’s doing, she wondered, that she had been invited this evening on her own — without Gerald? Perhaps Lionel would offer her a lift home, she wondered as she put on apricot-coloured bra and panties, gorgeous lace-trimmed garments in satin and pure silk. The fact that she had ‘acquired’ these expensive undies from the store’s stock room did not worry her in the slightest. After all, everyone had perks, and being in charge of the department surely she was entitled to sample the wares occasionally in order to familiarise herself with the products.
A sudden thought struck her. Suppose Mr Lionel did give her a lift home and she invited him in — perhaps he might see the undies. He would recognise them as one of their lines. Well, so what, she thought, smiling to herself… if he gets that far it won’t matter, his only interest would be in trying to remove them. Anyway she had no intention of allowing such liberties. Not unless he made a very definite offer of the Buyer’s post — in which case, who knows, she might allow a little fondling, just enough to let him know the delights that might be available once the appointment was confirmed. Provided it was going to advance her career and be kept secret from Gerald, a discreet little affair with Lionel might well be worthwhile.
Jane carefully eased a long turquoise dress over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. Not from Halls Ltd, this — but an expensive purchase on a recent visit to London. It fitted perfectly and she thought it gave her an elegant, almost aristocratic look that would be just right for the occasion.
When she arrived at Mr Hall’s residence, a large detached house in an exclusive part of town, the door was opened by the maid, Carrie, a pleasant young girl who came to the store occasionally on errands. ‘Ooh, I do like your dress, Miss Forsyth,’ she said after helping her off with her coat. ‘The others are in the drawing room — this way please.’
As she entered the room Mr Hall came towards her. ‘Ah, there you are Jane m’dear. Come in, come in. Carrie will get you a drink. I think you know everyone.’ Jane accepted a gin and tonic from Carrie and joined in the light conversation.
After a little while Mr Hall beckoned to her: ‘Jane, before we have our meal there is something I want you to see in the library, it will only take a few minutes,’ and so saying he led the way, nodding to Lionel who joined them. Crossing the hall they entered a room lined with bookshelves. In the centre stood a television set connected to a video recorder.
‘Now Jane,’ said Mr Hall fitting a cassette into the machine, ‘you know we have closed circuit TV at the store for security and I want to show you some clips from recent footage.’ He switched on and a view of the stock room appeared on the screen. A figure entered which Jane recognised as herself and felt a chill run down her spine. The figure glanced out and round the door before shutting it and then lifted three pairs of nylons and a slip all of which she quickly stuffed into her handbag and left the room. The picture went blank for a moment and then a similar scene was played out with Jane again clearly recognisable, this time cramming three pairs of exotic little knickers into her bag. A third and final clip showed Jane helping herself to the very same apricot bra, knicker and suspender set she was wearing that evening.
Mr Hall switched off the set. ‘Well Jane, we have just witnessed three thefts all within the last fortnight. What you may have taken before that stock room camera was secretly added to our system is anybody’s guess. You are aware that it is the store’s policy always to prosecute in cases of theft — indeed our insurers insist on it. So, what have you to say before we call the police?’
Jane’s mouth felt dry and she knew her cheeks were scarlet. A heavily oppressive sense of shame intensified her shock, her fear and her trembling. Her mind raced. What would everyone think? Her elderly parents, so proud of their ‘career girl’ daughter — it would break their hearts. And Gerald? Being an ambitious young solicitor he would drop her like a hot potato. Suddenly she was so frightened she acted right out of character. Jane Forsyth started to whine and plead! ‘No, please Mr Hall, not the police, I beg you — let me pay for everything I have taken. I will never do it again — I promise — please.’ Jane was near to tears. She could not control her reactions.
‘If we do show this to the police, Jane, we must also of course sentence you to instant dismissal and that is the only thing that makes us hesitate. Up until now we have been very happy with your work and you have increased the profits of your department. It would therefore suit us to keep you on but you must be punished in a manner that will deter you from any repeats. Everyone here tonight is either a director or shareholder in the firm and has therefore suffered to some extent by your stealing. So it is only fitting they should share in punishing you. If you accept punishment from us all — and I mean corporal punishment — having your bottom spanked, knickers down, and being strapped and caned as well during the evening — if you will accept this willingly, obeying our instructions without question — we will consider such chastisement as sufficient retribution and that will be the end of the matter. So, what is it to be: police, court, dismissal and disgrace… or a discreet disciplining at this private dinner-party?’
Jane, her mind in a whirl at the turn of events, knew there could only be one answer. ‘I will accept your punishment — I’ll do whatever you want as long as I can keep my job, and Gerald and my parents don’t hear about it,’ she said at once.
‘No one will hear about it, my dear,’ Mr Hall assured her. ‘Now let us go back to the drawing-room for one more drink before we eat.’
‘Do — do the others know about — about my being punished?’ asked Jane nervously as they left the library.
‘Of course, Jane,’ replied Mr Hall, ‘and they are all looking forward to it. You will provide the entertainment for the evening — the cabaret. We knew you would accept our offer. Going home with a sore bottom is better than losing your job, your good name, and probably your fiancé, is it not?’
‘I suppose so, mumbled Jane as they re-entered the drawing room and she thankfully accepted another gin.
‘I’m going to need this,’ she thought to herself.
She looked around this little social gathering; they were all so beautifully dressed, sophisticated, the whole atmosphere so civilised and respectable — it seemed unbelievable that they intended her to bare her bottom in front of them, and as Mr Hall had put it, administer ‘corporal punishment’. Her nerves rippled as she recalled the frightening phrase.
In addition to Lionel and Muriel, Mr Hall’s younger son, Tony, and his wife Laura completed the party. Tony, also a director, was only 23 and with Laura just 21 they were both younger than Jane, a fact which somehow added to her embarrassment.
She realised Lionel had sidled up to her, smiling slightly. ‘So, Jane, you’ve landed yourself in a spot of bother now haven’t you?’
‘Mr Lionel, do they really mean to spank me and cane me, or are they having me on, giving me a scare sort of thing?’
‘No Jane, they are not having you on. They, or I should say we, because I’m included you know, we are going to teach you that dishonesty doesn’t pay, and it is your bottom that is going to learn the lesson. Don’t worry, it won’t be too bad, it’s all a bit of a game really.’
I wonder, thought Jane as she spotted Lionel’s wife, Muriel looking daggers at them across the room. She had enjoyed playing up to Lionel at the office party and watching Muriel become more and more jealous. It didn’t seem to matter then that she had made an enemy of Muriel but now she realised that perhaps it was going to matter with Muriel in a position to make her pay for her indiscretion.
Carrie appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me Mr Hall — dinner is served.’
‘Thank you, Carrie, come along everybody,’ said Mr Hall taking Jane’s arm and leading the way through to the dining-room where an oval table was set for six. ‘You will sit at the far end Jane, opposite me, with the others round the sides.’
Before she sat down Muriel whispered something in Mr Hall’s ear. He hesitated a moment before speaking and then said, ‘Muriel has just voiced the opinion that under that beautiful dress, Jane, you are probably wearing some lingerie stolen from our store. To satisfy her curiosity could you please stand up on your chair and raise your dress so that we can have a look.’
‘No, really,’ stammered Jane, ‘it’s absurd.’
‘At once, if you please,’ commanded Mr Hall sternly. ‘Remember our agreement is that you obey all instructions without question.’
Blushing, Jane stepped onto the chair and lifted the hem of her dress up to her waist. ‘There — what did I tell you? — that’s the undie set the video shows her taking,’ exclaimed Muriel triumphantly.
‘Yes,’ said Tony, ‘lace-trimmed pure silk in Apricot Blush — our newest colour.’
‘Lower your dress Jane,’ said Mr Hall, ‘and before you sit down kindly remove those knickers.’ Jane, still blushing, reached underneath her dress and pulled down the offending panties. ‘Place them in the centre of the table,’ continued Mr Hall. ‘While we are eating they will remind us of your dishonesty, and also the fact that your bottom is bare beneath your dress awaiting our attention.’
Melon was served as a starter, and as she ate it Jane was aware of the others glancing at the knickers on the table, smiling at each other as they did so. After they finished Carrie moved round collecting the plates, returning them to the sideboard.
Mr Hall tapped the table ‘Now Miss Forsyth,’ (the use of her surname sounded very formal) ‘it is time for the first stage of your punishment and as the senior member of the firm I will deliver it myself. Having been a very naughty girl you deserve to have your bottom spanked — so let us begin.’ He moved his chair a yard or two back from the table. ‘Come and stand here — now lift your dress up above your waist.’
Jane, knowing it was quite useless to protest, resigned herself to whatever ignominy lay ahead and bent forward grasping the dress hem on either side. Slowly the turquoise dress rose up revealing as it did so lovely long legs clad in the sheerest of nylon. Up past the knees it went until above mid-thigh the thicker, darker welt of suspendered stocking-tops appeared, and with erotic suddenness gave way to the swelling pale white flesh of delicious upper thighs. Inching ever upwards the dress was finally drawn up and over the rounded cheeks of a most luscious bottom. With her knickers of course already lying on the table all Jane had on the lower half of her anatomy was a narrow suspender belt supporting the nylons. Although the former was part of the stolen Apricot Blush matching set nobody suggested she should remove it. Indeed having the stockings and suspenders on emphasized that her bare bottom really was bare.
Mr Hall let her stand there a moment or two while he enjoyed the full frontal view of Jane standing before him with her dress held up high. She felt foolish, awkward and highly embarrassed — not at all the prim elegance she had hoped to project at this gathering.
‘Across my knee,’ ordered Mr Hall, turning his chair slightly to one side so that as Jane complied the watchers around the table could have a full view of her bottom rather than seeing it sideways on. ‘Come along,’ he said impatiently, as Jane leant tentatively half over the waiting lap, ‘right over, rest your hands on the floor and spread your legs so you don’t fall off — that’s better.’ Appallingly, she had no alternative but to pull herself fully over his knees and move her legs apart as ordered.
Jane’s bottom, which had been the focal point of attention from the moment it had been bared by the lifting of her dress was now really displayed to advantage. Arched over Mr Hall’s lap the creamy white cheeks bulged outwards shamelessly — the cleft between them parted slightly and the young lady’s body was clearly tensed and hunching with embarrassment. The whole gorgeous bottom was fully spread out — a delectable feast for the lustful eyes around the table — and in this position simply begging to be spanked.
Jane was all too aware of the exhibition she was providing, and was relieved at least that she had been so fastidious about bathing, dusting and perfuming her most intimate areas. In this most indelicate situation the only comfort she could draw came from knowing that her body had been exquisitely prepared for examination, although of course the only possible person she had envisaged being so privileged was Lionel.
However, having to display her entrancing private charms was soon to be the least of her worries. She cringed slightly as Mr Hall placed his warm hand on her bottom. She felt it moving across the cheeks, compressing and stretching them a little as his fingers squeezed the soft flesh. He had a really good feel all over her bum in an offhand manner almost unnoticed by the guests, before lifting his hand up and smacking it down hard on the right buttock.
‘Ouch!’ cried Jane and ‘ouch!’ again as Mr Hall’s palm slapped down a second time on the same spot. He then gave two hard smacks on the left buttock in quick succession before holding his hand up for a moment which allowed the onlookers to see pink patches on both cheeks.
Mr Hall resumed his attack, and steadily spanked the upthrust mounds — moving his point of contact around so that the whole expanse of bulging flesh received a share of stinging slaps and the redness spread evenly over the entire bottom. As each crisply hard spank was delivered his hand seemed to bounce off the cheeks as if they were rubber. It was obvious that the flesh of Jane’s backside was firm and resilient — which was just as well considering the evening ahead.
Jane continued to ooh and ouch, gradually louder, and wriggled helplessly about as the spanks made her bum smart more and more. After a further few minutes’ hard spanking, Mr Hall stopped. ‘Right, that will do for starters. Back to your seat — we shall have our next course before the second stage of your correction.’
As Jane lifted herself up from Mr Hall’s knees she was dismayed to see that Carrie was still standing at the sideboard and had obviously witnessed the whole episode. That the maid had seen her bare bottom being spanked acutely added to her shame.
Carrie however was quite impassive as she served everyone with soup. The maid then brought a slipper over, which she placed on top of the knickers still spread out in the middle of the table. Nothing was said, but Jane knew what it was: her bottom’s next course. It was the type of slipper that could be worn outdoors and had a hard shiny sole. ‘That will sting more than Mr Hall’s hand,’ thought Jane as she supped her soup, so nervous that she could scarcely consume even this liquid.
When it was finished and the plates removed, Carrie brought a pack of cards which she handed to Jane. ‘We would like you to decide the order of play,’ said Mr Hall. ‘Shuffle the cards and then deal them round the table — missing me, I have had my turn for the time being. The first person to receive a jack will be the one to give you a slippering. It is a simple but amusing game.’
Jane stood up, blushing to the roots of her hair for all her sophistication, and began dealing the cards out face upwards. She only got as far as Tony when a jack appeared. Immediately Tony rose and reached for the slipper, smiling at Jane. ‘Come on young lady — time to show us your bum again,’ he guffawed, and at the same time he moved his chair back away from the table. ‘Now Jane, up with your dress and over my knee please — a good lambasting with this slipper should help mend your ways!’
Although it was less than half an hour since her spanking, Jane still felt embarrassed as she lifted her dress high up and stretched over Tony’s lap, easing herself forward until her hands reached the floor on one side, and dutifully spreading her feet apart on the other so that she was firmly anchored in position.
It was the loss of her own control over herself, the frightful sensation of becoming just a pawn in the power of the entire gathering, with some sexual humiliation, which so affected her as she arched her body passively.
Once again the rest of the party were treated to the fascinating sight of Jane’s superb bare bottom provocatively up-ended — a most inviting target for the slippering it was about to receive, the whole shapely bum still a warm pinkish colour from its earlier encounter with Mr Hall’s hand.
Jane flinched slightly as Tony touched her. Like his father he could not resist feeling the soft and pliant flesh, giving a little squeeze here and there, and then he took a firm grip of the slipper. Up, pause, and smack, it landed on the bulging crown of the upthrust bottom with a loud splat! and a sharp gasp from Jane. Again the slipper slapped down across the same central area so that both bum-cheeks shared the impact. Jane cried out, her fears that the hard slipper sole would hurt more than Mr Hall’s hand already confirmed.
Tony now decided to apply the slipper to one cheek at a time. He whacked the right buttock six times in quick succession, and then gave the same treatment to the left buttock. ‘Ooh, ooh, ooh!’ gasped Jane, this sharp attack leaving her bottom quivering, the shapely cheeks already a brighter red than they had been during Mr Hall’s spanking.
Tony allowed Jane a few moments’ respite before repeating the dose — six hard smacks of the slipper to each buttock. Throughout this second onslaught Jane oohed and aahed noticeably louder, her bum wriggling and writhing about as the slipper rose and fell relentlessly, the cheeks turning a fiery red. A short pause, and then two final smacks delivered like the first two across the middle of the heaving bottom. ‘There,’ said Tony, ‘that’s my contribution for the moment.’
Jane struggled back to an upright position and quickly pulled the hem of her crumpled dress down over her burning bum before going back to her seat. Mr Hall looked at her with approval. Once again she had taken the punishment well and despite some wriggling had kept herself in position. How would she react to the rather sterner corrections that lay ahead, he wondered.
After serving the fish course, Carrie quietly laid a strap across the apricot knickers still resting in the centre of the table. Jane viewed it with considerable apprehension. It was a typical school tawse, dark brown leather, about two feet long with the last ten inches split down the middle to form two tails.
The grilled sole was delicious but Jane could only toy with it — the sight of the evil-looking strap in front of her had quite taken away her appetite. Eventually, but all too soon for Jane, the others finished and after clearing away the places Carrie again brought the cards for Jane to deal. This time they went round twice before Muriel received the required jack.
‘Aren’t you the lucky one!’ quipped Tony
‘Not really,’ replied Muriel. ‘I was hoping to use the cane — but not to worry, I’ll do the best I can with the strap.’
I’ll bet you will, thought Jane with a feeling of dread, aware of how much Muriel disliked her.
‘Right, Miss Forsyth,’ said Muriel getting to her feet, ‘where shall we have you positioned? I know — push your chair back a couple of yards and reverse it. You can bend over the back and take hold of the seat. That should prop your bum up nicely.’
Jane rose and positioned the chair as instructed. It was no longer necessary to tell her to raise her dress: she knew what was expected and dutifully hoisted it up waist-high before leaning over the chair and grasping the front of the seat. The chair back was high enough to make her stretch her legs straight and taut, particularly when she moved her feet further apart, which she did of her own volition to avoid the chagrin of being ordered to by Muriel.
Muriel however, far from being impressed by Jane’s submissive gesture, was determined to impose the maximum indignity on this scheming young woman. ‘Don’t you think it would be better to have the dress off altogether?’ she remarked to her father- in-law. ‘It’s becoming creased with all the bunching up.’
‘Yes, why not?’ said Mr Hall, secretly rather pleased at the suggestion. ‘We really should find out whether you are wearing any further items of stolen underwear, Jane, and as Muriel says, it is a shame to crumple up that lovely dress. So, off with it please — Carrie can lay it out in another room.’
Jane who had straightened up during this discussion looked daggers at Muriel before reluctantly pulling down the zip at the side of the dress and then hoisting it over her head and off. Carrie came forward to take it from her, leaving Jane beside the chair clad only in knickers, stockings, suspender belt and most noticeably, a silk and satin apricot bra. They all knew where that had come from.
Jane stood uncomfortably, blushed scarlet and hoped against hope that they wouldn’t want her to… But it was a vain hope, Muriel was already speaking: ‘Well, well, more of our property, Jane. You can’t be allowed to wear a stolen bra while you are being disciplined. Put it on the table beside the knickers.
Jane looked pleadingly at Mr Hall, but there was no help there. The breasts cupped in the exotic bra were obviously well-formed and the prospect of seeing them fully revealed was stiffening more than his resolve. ‘Do as Muriel says,’ he murmured a little huskily. ‘You agreed to obey all our instructions.’
Slowly, Jane put her hands behind her, unclasped the bra and with a look of helpless dismay drew it away from her breasts. (They were certainly worth seeing — perfectly shaped and thrusting out firmly.) Quickly and self-consciously she moved across to place the bra on the table beside the matching apricot knickers, and then returned to stand beside the reversed chair turning her back to the audience to hide her frontal nudity. But nothing could protect her from the acute feeling of humiliation.
‘Right Jane,’ said Muriel in the same catty, cutting tone, dangling the tawse purposefully. ‘Get back over the chair — now that you have bared your arse and titties like a tatty stripper we’ll proceed with strapping your bottom.’ And now clearly a certain voluptuous malicious relish could also be heard in her voice.
Having bent over the high chair back, Jane reached forward to grasp the seat and again spread her legs slightly. This opened and broadened the shapely posterior which was once more perfectly displayed for all to see — the cheeks red, chapped and sore-looking from the effects of the recent slippering.
Muriel moved alongside, putting her hand out and sharply pinching the bottom-flesh several times. ‘Ouch!’ said Jane as the bony fingers bit into her bum.
‘Is that hurting you? — you hussy,’ Muriel hissed in Jane’s ear. ‘Wait till I start with the strap — I’ll teach you not to make eyes at my husband. This house is in its own grounds so you can cry out as much as you like, and I want to hear you yell so I know I’m getting my message through to you.’
Jane gritted her teeth and wished she would get on with it. Bent over with her bum stuck out waiting for the strap was unnerving, but Muriel was determined to savour the moment. Mr Hall could feel the tension; he, like the others, knew Muriel had a score to settle — and what better way than an upturned bottom at the mercy of a supple leather tawse? It was superb poetic justice.
Carefully Muriel measured her swing and then brought the strap round and down across the crown of the waiting bum. ‘Aaah!’ cried Jane as her bottom jerked violently. A few seconds’ pause and the twin tails of the strap again landed on the centre of the shapely bum with a loud thwack. ‘Ooooh!’ cried Jane loudly and ‘Oooh, oooh!’ even more loudly as a third stroke lashed down.
The slipper had stung painfully, but the strap was worse and really scorched Jane’s bottom. The desire to jump up and clasp her hands to her bum was very strong, but so was her determination not to give Muriel the satisfaction of breaking her. Sheer will-power enabled her to keep a tight hold of the chair seat but could not prevent her bottom from bouncing and twisting about as the strap continued to rise and fall. The bum-cheeks repeatedly opened and tightened in spasmodic jerks as they absorbed the shock waves. Nor could she help crying out every time the strap landed — each stroke intensifying the pain and making her weep freely between strokes, some of which lashed perilously close to her most sensitive spot.
Jane’s bottom, red to begin with, was now bright scarlet, with blotches in places, but Muriel continued her relentless strapping of the squirming bum for some time before pausing for a rest. Jane remained bent over the chair back sobbing quietly and writhing continuously.
Muriel stood back for a few moments, obviously deriving great pleasure from the sight of the soundly strapped bum still heaving and writhing about with the cheeks constantly opening and shutting. There was a breathless silence in the room for somehow it was so poignant seeing this happening to a full-grown and beautiful young woman. Jane’s discomfort was plain to see and there was no doubt she was now the possessor of a very sore bottom indeed.
And, thought Muriel to herself, I’ll make it even sorer to ensure she really remembers the message.
She raised the strap once more and thwacked it downwards. The outstretched bum jerked violently and Jane gave a sharp cry at this renewal of the assault. A second stoke and Jane yelped again. As Muriel drew back the strap the watchers could see she was aiming lower and sure enough the tawse landed swift and hard across the skin fold between upper thigh and lower bottom. Jane gave a loud yell and although she kept hold of the chair seat her ankles kicked back one after the other as the effect of the stroke on this sensitive area bit into her. She writhed and wriggled while Muriel drew back the strap and after a pause delivered an even lower and more painful blow. This avoided the twisting bum altogether and lashed across the backs of the lovely milky-white thighs just above the stocking tops. It was too much for Jane who with a screech of pain jumped upright clasping her hands to her whipped thighs and squeezed the flesh with all her might until the intense pain eased a little. ‘Oooh, aaah, aah! No more, please, no more!’ she looked beseechingly at Mr Hall.
‘Yes, I think that is enough Muriel,’ he said, ‘and don’t look so upset. You have given Jane a first-class strapping, but the agreement was that we would punish her bottom not her legs — so I hope everybody will remember that from now on.’
‘Sit down Jane — if you can! — and we’ll continue our meal.’
Jane, bringing her chair with her, moved somewhat stiffly back to her place and even these few slow steps caused her breasts to bob and bounce delightfully. Very gently she lowered her burning cheeks onto the leather seat. It was cooling at first but soon there was a tacky sticky feeling at every movement, constantly reminding her that her bum was bare. This might have been quite a sensual experience, she thought, if only her bottom wasn’t hurting so much. And evidently this smarting fury was not the kind of pain that would disappear in a hurry.
While Carrie served the main course, roast pheasant, the others were able to enjoy a close look at Jane’s shapely breasts. Any illusion of dignity melted clean away under their proprietorial stares. After the maid finished serving she reached for something under the sideboard, and with her usual smile at Jane placed a cane on the table. Jane’s heart sank as she saw it close up: a long yellowish rattan cane with a curved handle, like a very thin walking stick, strong, resilient but flexible. A wave of panic came over her. The severe strapping had left her bottom so burning and tender that the thought of that cane on top tempted her to give up and insist on leaving. Alas she realised the consequences — prosecution, disgrace and the ruining of her life — were even more unthinkable. No, however much they humiliated her and no matter how hard and how many times they wished to flog her she knew she must endure it somehow. This evening her bottom was at their disposal to do with as they pleased and she could do absolutely nothing about it.
Jane gave a quiet sob and again could only toy with the dish in front of her. She could not swallow. Her nudity made her feel more vulnerable than ever with so many eyes staring at her.
When everyone was finished and the plates removed the cards were produced with now only Lionel and Laura in contention. The first jack fell to Lionel so it was he who rose and picked up the cane. ‘Come Jane,’ he said not unkindly, ‘the sooner we start the sooner it will be over. If you could stand across there and bend over that should do nicely.’
Jane, still with a despairing look on her face, moved to the indicated spot and turning her back bent right over almost touching her toes.
‘No, not quite so much,’ said Lionel, seeing how tight and hard the bum-cheeks were stretched over her hip bones, ‘try putting your hands on your knees.’ As Jane straightened up the cheeks relaxed and became rounder and more cushioned. ‘That’s better,’ Lionel said, his hand briefly exploring Jane’s outstretched bottom but withdrawing quickly when Muriel coughed loudly. He stepped to one side and carefully measured the cane against the rounded cheeks. Back it went slowly before being brought whipping down to the waiting bum.
‘Aaah!’ gasped Jane whilst her red bottom-cheeks gave a little jerk acknowledging the stinging kiss of the cane. A second stroke brought a similar response.
Although both strokes hurt — landing as they did on an already very sore bottom — Jane was aware that they were not as agonising as could have been expected. Lionel was undoubtedly refraining from using maximum force. He appeared to take a full swing but must be holding back a little just before contact. Even in the midst of her punishment Jane felt grateful but realised it might be wise to assist in the deception. So when the third stroke landed she gave a louder cry and jerked her bottom sharply.
From then on she continued yell out at each stroke and wriggled and writhed her bum about as though the caning was extremely painful. If the onlookers were being fooled by this performance they were at least being treated to the sight of Jane’s bottom executing a most voluptuous and revealing dance for their entertainment.
When Lionel paused he too found the sight of the wriggling bum attractive viewing. He suddenly felt a desire to give it a good hard hiding and see it jump in earnest. After all, he told himself, Jane had stolen from them so he should not be too light on her, and the shapely bottom wriggling deliciously in front of him was most provocative to someone holding a whippy cane.
With rising excitement Lionel again measured the cane against the heaving bum, drew it well back and delivered it hard and true.
‘Oowwh!’ Jane’s yell was quite genuine this time, her bottom jerking violently as the pain seared through it. This was how she had imagined that awesome cane would feel — quite agonising. It struck again with similar force and Jane felt her whole body quivering as her bum absorbed the stinging cut.
Lionel would have liked to continue but decided not to jeopardize his chance of future favours from the delectable Jane. This had been a strong motive in his earlier holding back. ‘There — that will do,’ he said, ‘and I hope it has taught you a good lesson.’
Jane straightened up and returned thankfully to her chair, wincing as she lowered her sore bum onto the leather seat. Even with the last two stingers, she knew Lionel had let her off lightly, and she was glad her encounter with the cane had been at his hand and not Muriel’s.
However her relief was short lived. Once the dessert course was served, a delightful sherry trifle, Carrie again reached underneath the sideboard, and to Jane’s dismay produced a birch. This she placed in the middle of the table, smiling sweetly at the lovely naked girl on whom it was obviously soon to be used.
Jane shivered, partly from having no clothes on, but mostly with apprehension as she surveyed the birch. It looked frightening — a full thirty inches long and made up six or seven thin supple branch lengths tightly bound at the bottom to provide a good hand grip and blossoming out to a tightly packed twiggy fullness of about four inches diameter at the business end — the part, that is, that would be applied to her posterior.
‘A worthy instrument for disciplining a wrongdoer, wouldn’t you say Jane?’ remarked Mr Hall, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Carrie and I collected branches from the garden yesterday and spent some time grading and matching them to make it just right.’ At this point the maid flashed Jane a fetching smile. ‘We steeped it in brine overnight to keep it supple and ensure none of the twigs snap or crack off. The soaking has also made it heavier, so it should do a good job.’
‘No need to cry yet, Jane,’ he added seeing her begin to weep again. ‘Actually you have been rather lucky in selecting people for your different lessons. By simple elimination it falls to Laura to birch you and she is such a gentle young thing I hardly think you will suffer too much. Nevertheless we must find a way of presenting you for this punishment that is worthy of our fine birch.’ He looked around the room, ‘I know — may we borrow your serving trolley Carrie? Would you clear it and bring it out here please.’
Carrie removed the remaining plates from the trolley and wheeled it out near the dinner table. ‘Yes, sideways on,’ said Mr Hall. ‘Come on Jane, over the trolley please. It will support your bottom at just the right height.’
Reluctantly, wishing that the floor would open up to swallow her, Jane clambered across the trolley. As she did so it moved about alarmingly on its four wheels, but by placing her feet apart and pulling herself further over so that her hands reached the floor on the opposite side she was able to keep it stationary. However this was only achieved at the expense of modesty. Jane’s spread-eagled position over the trolley presented a lewd display, the bulging bottom-cheeks and upper thighs forced outwards and apart, her most intimate areas revealed for all to see. Once again she was grateful that her posture somewhat concealed her suddenly flushing face.
While most of the onlookers were enjoying this stark exhibition of Jane’s anatomy, Laura had taken hold of the birch and was having some practice swings through the air. Jane screwed her head round to watch and felt chagrined that her tormentor this time was to be a girl younger than herself.
Laura moved nearer and positioned the birch gently over Jane’s bottom stretched out so openly across the trolley. She felt a pang of real pity when she saw at close quarters how bruised and blotched the shapely bum had become. The whole wide fleshy expanse was deeply purply red with twin ridged weals showing where the two last savage strokes of Lionel’s cane had landed. What on earth is a birching going to feel like on top of this lot? thought Laura, but Mr Hall was nodding to her to begin so steeling herself to the task she raised her arm well up and swiped the birch down across the outstretched bum. It landed with a loud Thwack-sh! echoed by a drawn-out ‘Aaah!’ from Jane as her bottom gave a sharp jerk and began twitching violently.
To her surprise Laura found that this reaction to what had been a rather casual first stroke gave her quite a thrill. Her sympathy of a few minutes earlier was overtaken by a feeling of power at the realisation that the ambitious Miss Forsyth, stretched naked across the trolley, was so much at her mercy. Her natural feminine bitchiness, which found no expression in her everyday personality, suddenly had an appropriate target. The upturned bottom was already acknowledging the effectiveness of the birch and the prospect of making it really dance about excited the younger girl. The fact that this would involve more pain for the humiliated Jane no longer worried her.
Shifting her stance slightly Laura aimed her next stroke at the fleshy lower half of Jane’s bum and was rewarded, after the satisfying whistling hiss, by seeing the curvy cheeks contract and expand in convulsive movement. Jane gasped loudly and could be heard giving a few sobs. She knew now why a birch was considered so effective an instrument of punishment. It was like several strokes of the cane landing simultaneously, all from different angles, and even that didn’t describe it adequately. The twiggy branches, still hard and firm despite the soaking in brine, ensured that over the whole wide area of contact every square millimetre of bottom flesh received its individual intensely stinging message of pain. The result was a scorching searing sensation that left the entire bottom on fire.
These first two strokes had been enough to revitalise the colour of poor Jane’s bum from its deep purply red back to a fiery brightness contrasting vividly with the rest of her pale white body.
Down came the birch again on the middle of the rounded cheeks. A sharp cry from Jane and much writhing and wriggling showed that her bottom was once more receiving a most impressive punishment. Laura, enjoying the effect her efforts were having, became a little careless with the next stroke. She intended to catch the very lowest part of the outstretched buttocks, the fleshy underhang, but the birch landed even lower, striking across the bottom-crease with much of the impact being taken by the top few inches of upper thigh.
Laura glanced quickly at Mr Hall remembering how he had admonished Muriel for landing the strap on Jane’s thighs, but realising it was unintentional he affected not to notice. Jane however certainly noticed, letting out a shrill screech and many ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as the full effect of the stroke was felt by the tender flesh.
The trolley cavorted as she bounced and writhed about. She would have jumped up if she could, but being arched right over the trolley made it impossible, so despite the heaving her bottom remained thrust upwards fully available for further birching.
Laura, as though to correct any wrong impression given by the wayward stroke, quickly struck again — this time carefully aiming at the very middle of the writhing bum. This made it writhe even more energetically, whilst Jane continued moaning and sobbing. The squirming bum looked terribly sore with the bruised flesh cruelly scratched and scored by the twiggy birch.
Laura felt some compassion returning and decided one more stroke would suffice. She made sure that this landed squarely across the central mass of the scarlet bottom making it jerk about frantically and drawing a howl from Jane who remained up-ended, gasping between sobs, while Laura moved away and laid down the birch.
Carrie, who had been watching from her position at the end of the sideboard, came forward. Holding the trolley still she assisted Jane to clamber off and stand up. Once upright Jane swayed before walking stiffly back to her chair. She sat down very gently but even so gave a whimper of pain as her burning bottom met the leather seat. Trying to brush the tears from her eyes before fresh ones filled them she looked around the table. Surely they must be satisfied now, she thought. Each one had had his or her turn at giving her what Mr Hall called ‘corrective lessons’, most of them extremely painful. In doing so they had exploited her nudity, forcing her to show off her intimate parts in a most rude fashion and thus humiliated her sexually.
After serving coffee, Carrie came round with liqueurs and Jane shakily accepted a brandy which she hoped would help her compose herself. Still giving an occasional sniffle, she watched anxiously as Carrie returned to the sideboard but to her relief the maid busied herself stacking plates onto the trolley which she then wheeled out of the room.
No new implement of punishment had been brought to the table. It really is over, thought Jane. She sipped her brandy, holding the glass with both hands so that her forearms partly hid her naked breasts which, perhaps as a result of her scorched bottom, had become highly stimulated — the nipples sticking out like hard glistening cherries.
‘I trust our home-produced birch gave you something to think about, Jane,’ said Mr Hall passing his cigarette case round the table. ‘Laura only gave you a few strokes but they seemed rather effective. Anyway it means there is only one person who hasn’t had a turn at thrashing you — and here she is!’ he exclaimed as Carrie re-entered the room. ‘I think we’ll allow Jane a few more minutes’ rest, Carrie, before you give her a final dose of correction.’
‘No! Oh please Mr Hall, I couldn’t stand any more, I really couldn’t… please!’ gasped Jane, who for the past few minutes had believed her ordeal was over and now found her hopes dashed.
‘I am sorry, Jane,’ replied Mr Hall, ‘we agreed that everybody would share in punishing you, so Carrie must have her turn.’
‘But — oh no, oh please Mr Hall — I’ve taken my punishment from all of you… but not your maid — please!’ Jane sounded offended as well as shocked. Despite the torment she had been put through, deep down she was still a social climber and the indignity of having her bare bottom punished by a servant horrified her almost as much as the prospect of further pain.
‘You are in no position to object to Carrie, young lady!’ Mr Hall declared sharply. ‘She is an employee of mine like you, but unlike you she is loyal and honest. And for your information I gave her some shares as a Christmas present so she is a shareholder too. Now then, Carrie! Our collection of punishment instruments have all been produced, so which would you like to use?’
‘Well,’ said Carrie coming forward, ‘having helped to make the birch perhaps I should choose it — but I think it had better be the cane, I should be able to wield that more accurately.’
‘Right, that’s agreed then,’ said Mr Hall bluffly. ‘Give her six of the best! Jane, you will put yourself at Carrie’s disposal. Carry on Carrie,’ he joked.
‘Very good, sir,’ Carrie answered obediently. She had picked up the cane. Her tone changed. ‘I would like to have you in the same position as you were when Mrs Muriel strapped you, Miss Forsyth — bent over the back of your chair. So could you bring it out please and get into position?’
A very despondent Jane rose, moved her chair to the required spot, reversed it, and slowly bent over the back. She hoped at least that Carrie would be embarrassed at having to cane her and her strokes therefore nervous and light.
What she did not know was that Carrie was no stranger to corporal punishment, although up to now always in the role of the receiver rather than the giver. When he offered her a job, Mr Hall made it clear to Carrie that wrongdoing would mean a spanking. Now after a year they had reached a close understanding of each other’s needs. At roughly fortnightly intervals, or whenever she saw that particular look in his eye, Carrie would knock over an ashtray or clumsily spill something giving an excuse for the inevitable punishment. Over his knee she would go, down would come her knickers, and an eager hand would first thoroughly feel and then soundly spank her chubby young bottom. However, although her bum was always well reddened, the spankings were never too hard or prolonged and several pay increases plus the gift of shares already mentioned ensured that Carrie accepted the situation without complaint.
Whilst preparing the birch she and Mr Hall had discussed in detail the proposed dinner party disciplining of Jane, including the agreement that Carrie would give one of the punishments. All day therefore she had been waiting for this moment and intended to make the most of it.
‘Can you reach a little further over please Miss Forsyth? — and push your bottom out a bit more!’ Jane was livid that a mere maid should be giving her such orders, but also noted with some dismay that Carrie was speaking very firmly and appeared far from nervous.
So for the second time that evening, Jane found herself stretched over the chair-back with her hands grasping the seat and her bottom thrust outwards to form a most tempting target. Its bruised and tender appearance was not going to distract Carrie from her purpose. In her opinion Jane was an arrogant social climber who looked down on the likes of maids. So, no matter how sore Jane’s bum was, Carrie looked forward to making it dance about a bit more.
She was still not satisfied that the bottom was fully arched and outstretched, and curtly told Jane to place her nylon-clad legs wider apart. This pleased the onlookers at the table who were once more treated to a generous view between the parted thighs.
Carrie placed the cane across the crown of the waiting bum, noting with pleasure how it quivered at the touch. Back and up she lifted it and then — Whack!, the first stroke was delivered bang on target. It was a hard stroke and brought a sharp cry from Jane: her bum giving an inevitable reaction of jerking and moving about.
The second stroke was traumatic. Carrie just aimed again at the fleshy middle area, but by sheer chance the cane landed exactly on top of the first stroke. The effect was electric. The acute pain that shot through her bottom, coupled with her pent-up fury at being punished by Carrie, made Jane lose control. Emitting a shriek as the cane struck, she jumped up from the chair and turned round her eyes blazing through the tears.
‘How dare you hit me like that! — it hurt much too much — you bitch — you vicious little bitch!’ As she spoke Jane was clutching her bottom squeezing the cheeks, and then she groaned.
‘Tch, Tch,’ from Mr Hall. ‘I will not allow Carrie to be spoken to like that — she is only carrying out my orders. When you have calmed down, Jane, you will kindly get back over that chair. For your rudeness to Carrie you will receive an extra two strokes and more if you jump up again. You understand, Carrie? You start again and still give Jane a full six.’
‘I understand, Mr Hall,’ Carrie smiled. ‘When you are ready, Miss Forsyth!’
If looks could kill, Carrie would have expired there and then. Jane seemed about to say something, but thought better of it and once more turned and bend over the chair. Carrie took perverse delight in again telling her to spread her legs more and stick her bottom out. One sensed there was more to this girl than appeared in the normal course of her duties as a maid. When Jane had complied to her complete satisfaction, Carrie proceeded with the caning.
With deliberation, and allowing plenty of time between each, she delivered four hard, loud strokes of that capable cane to the out-thrust bum. This time none of them overlapped, but they still made Jane cry out, and her bottom responded with its now familiar display of writhing and jerking under punishment. Bravely, Jane struggled to keep her bottom defiantly pushed outwards.
For the fifth stroke of this new series. Carrie aimed at, and succeeded in striking, the crease joining bottom underhang and upper thigh. Jane shrieked. She let go of the chair seat for an instant but quickly re-gripped it, determined not to have her punishment extended further. But oh! how it did hurt. The skin fold was a sensitive area anyway, and had already been tenderised by Muriel’s tawse and Laura’s birch. Now this savage stroke of the cane sent a searing pain coursing through Jane’s system and seemed to take an eternity before starting to ease. Indeed Jane was still catching her breath from the shock when the next and final stroke contacted above the middle of her heaving bum. She felt it certainly, but only as an additional sting to rear-quarters already on fire.
Vaguely she heard Mr Hall telling her to bring her chair back to the table and sit down. In a kind of daze she did so — stiffly and very painfully. This last caning, coming on top of all the other punishments, had somehow brought her to the end of her tether — her bottom chastised to the limit of its endurance. And it was extraordinary how meek Jane now seemed.
Mr Hall passed her a brandy. ‘Have another drink my dear, you look as though you need it — and then you can get dressed, yes with those as well!’ He indicated the apricot knickers and bra on the table. ‘You have paid for those now, and I think you have probably learnt your lesson. While you are dressing, Carrie will order a cab to take you home.’Jane was quite unable to answer.