Photo-story from Janus 56 continuing from Belinda’s Test.
Belinda Laine approached the austere building hesitantly. Despite her natural trepidation it was her identical twin, Chrissie, who dominated her thoughts. It was because of Chrissie that she was here. Last week, in a London street during her seemingly hopeless quest in the capital to find her wayward sister, Belinda had almost literally bumped into a business-man called Stuart Baverstock — who had mistaken her for her twin.
On overcoming his surprise that she was not in fact Chrissie, it became clear that the man had a lover’s grudge against Belinda’s breath-catching lookalike, who he considered had treated him badly. Knowing her sister’s wildly madcap nature, Belinda wasn’t too surprised that Chrissie broke a few hearts, gave men a whirl and promised them the world, then ran away laughing and left them to pick up the pieces of their shattered dreams. But this man was different to her usual prey: a strong-minded managing director with his own company, who had been hurt, and still nursed deep emotional grievances against she who had hurt him.
At Belinda’s urging, he had promised to give her Chrissie’s address, but with a certain disturbing proviso. Desperate not to lose this unique chance of finding her sister, Belinda had returned, on the man’s insistence, to his hotel room where to her great shock and shame he had spanked her bared bottom with robust vigour in an effort to assuage his bitterness. Punishing Chrissie Laine by proxy, as it were, on deliciously shapely buttocks identical to those he had never been granted the pleasure of seeing, let alone touching! For Stuart the experience had been headily cathartic, but it hadn’t been quite enough. Before he would give Belinda the information she so desperately sought, he informed her that she must first undergo a further ‘ordeal’.
Well, this was it. Following the man’s strict instructions Belinda had taken a train to this country town and made her way to this isolated building. Belinda’s honey-gold hair bobbed on supple shoulders as her high-heels crunched across the gravel, up the steps, and in through the main doors. There appeared to be no one about. The place had a well-scrubbed, antiseptic atmosphere. As the girl hesitated, wondering what to do and where to go next, the man’s voice called crisply: ‘In here, Miss Laine!’, and she hurried nervously towards the inner doorway through which it had come. ‘Chrissie,’ she breathed, ‘Oh Chrissie…’
The large, echoing hall was cold and sparsely furnished. Stuart Baverstock, immaculate as ever in blue pin-stripes, sternly faced the door; while at the top end beside a freezing radiator stood a commanding military figure in army combat uniform, booted and gaitered, cane tucked under arm. Joe Hays had once been a drill instructor, putting the fear of God into raw recruits as he licked them with roars and goads into prime marching units. Now he was a civilian, Head of Security in Baverstock’s company, and his uniform had been purchased in an army surplus store especially for this occasion.
During a recent spate of pilfering in his firm, Stuart had been impressed by the supremely competent, no-nonsense manner in which Joe had cleared the matter up, rooting out the malefactors and reducing hard-nosed, brazen females to remorseful sobs. During an after-work drink Joe had confessed to his boss his belief in good old-fashioned discipline. ‘Never fails to make ‘em jump, sir,’ he’d confided. Stuart had nodded grimly: Chrissie Laine was still on his mind.
Although his palm still tingled delightfully from its contact with the soft, saucy rump of her identical twin, it was today that he hoped finally to exorcise that taunting female from his senses. Mooning about in the way he had been doing was bad for business.
‘In here, girl!’ he barked again. Belinda Laine peered round the door into the hall. It was large, and dauntingly chill. ‘Well at least you got here on time. That’s something, anyway!’ The man who had spanked her so soundly last week was glaring at her apprehensive figure as it appeared; but she gasped to see an additional figure — dressed in combat camouflage — watching from the end of the hall. As the girl continued to hesitate, Stuart grasped her arm and drew her firmly inside.
‘Wh-what are you going to do?’ faltered Belinda, glancing about.
For answer he turned her resistant body and pulled her towards the military figure. She moaned in protest. ‘This is your Drill Instructor,’ murmured Stuart in surprisingly mild tones. ‘I’m placing you under his control for a lesson in obedience and comportment. You would be advised to comply.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Belinda. Cheekily she put hands on hips and eyed the DI up and down — and Stuart felt a pang to see, for the first time, that wicked glint in her eyes. He knew it so well. How very like Chrissie she looked at that moment. A mocking smile tugged at the girl’s lips, a smile so like that other smile. That trimly lithe body, that arrogant stance! For the moment it was Chrissie Laine standing there, and it was a battle for Stuart to control his feelings.
Joe Hays’ voice ripped suddenly out like a buzz-saw, startling the businessman almost as much as it did the girl. ‘Stand to attention you slovenly female!’ it grated. ‘Back straight, hands to your sides!’ Belinda’s show of defiance was blasted away as the words, delivered at parade-ground volume, exploded at point-blank range. Her entire body convulsed, elbows and knees straightened, heels clicked together. Quivering, she stood to rigid attention, awed by the unexpected force of this man.
‘Head up. UP! About TURN!’ Shocked, she flung her body round. ‘Quick march!’ came the blared command. Belinda lurched into a few panic strides. ‘Halt! About turn!’ The trembling, bemused girl halted, slithered round to face the two men, her heart slamming. What next?
The voice became a cold growl, exquisitely enunciated. ‘You will disrobe.’
‘Disrobe!’ roared Joe Hays. ‘Clothes off. At once! Jump to it!’ Bewildered and utterly disorientated as she was, it seemed that no force on earth could prevent Belinda from obeying those clinical, rasping orders. Stuart Baverstock gazed in fascination as ‘Chrissie’ peeled off her sweater to show sweet breasts cupped in a white bra. She looked imploringly at the DI, willing him to spare her further humiliation. To no avail. ‘The brassiere too, miss. Off. Pants and undergarments also. You may retain your shoes. QUICKLY!’
She unhooked the bra, and her breasts popped out into the chill air. The nipples were aggravatingly erect as unasked-for thrills rippled through Belinda’s body. Weirdly she felt it was Chrissie’s skin she was inside, not her own. She, Belinda, had always been a good girl: it was her twin who was the naughty one, who used to get smacked and told off. Stupefied with embarrassment she eased the black pants down her bare legs — and then stripped off the skimpy knickers till she stood utterly naked and exposed. Naked and shivering in the ice-cold hall under the horribly exciting feasting gazes of two men.
Joe Hays swallowed hard at the sight of her nude pink slenderness, the flawless flesh pimpled with goosebumps. He glanced at his boss, who nodded for him to continue. ‘Pick up your clothes, miss,’ he growled, ‘and fold them neatly into squares. Now.’
Belinda squatted obediently down on her haunches, feeling appallingly vulnerable, shaking with cold. Chrissie had fled: she was her quiet, shy self again. Miserably she folded her clothes as instructed and stood up.
‘Place clothing on chair!’ rasped the DI, pointing with his cane. ‘At the double!’ Belinda made sullenly for the chair indicated. ‘Double, I said!’ came the roar.
Galvanised by the terrifying voice she hastened to the chair indicated. As she stooped to place the clothes upon it, the girl was aware that her buttocks were very much on display. Buttocks whose bareness reminded her of the drubbing they had received in that hotel room last week.
The DI marched furiously up to her. He seemed in a rage. Belinda quailed as he bent and rapped her ankle with his cane. ‘Dirty shoe on parade!’ he barked. Indeed, there was a smudge of dust on the patent leather of her right shoe. ‘Clean it at once!’ he bawled in outrage. ‘REMOVE SHOE!’ Thoroughly alarmed, Belinda did so.
‘Fetch your sweater from chair — quick march!’ The flustered girl set off towards the chair again. ‘Faster. At the double!’ It was a nightmare. She broke into a panic run, stooped and seized the garment, and rubbed at the offending shoe. ‘Quicker, girl — MOVE!’ came the courage-sapping roar.
Belinda replaced the shoe on her right foot. In the midst of her misery and degradation she was scarcely aware of Stuart Baverstock’s intense regard on her breasts, buttocks, limbs and dismayed face. Yet she knew it was Chrissie he was seeing. Again she began to feel like Chrissie — but a thoroughly frightened Chrissie who was being comprehensively punished.
‘Attention!’ The Drill Instructor’s voice crashed into her senses. She quivered to attention. ‘Head up, girl. UP!’
Joe Hays was enjoying himself. The nude beauty with the long bright hair was only inches from him He could smell her perfume mingled intoxicatingly with perspiration. ‘Marching on the spot — BEGIN,’ he bellowed. The girl began to move her legs in a tense, half-hearted way. ‘Higher, girl — higher!’ He rapped her shins with his stick and she sprang with a gasp into quicker motion.
Meanwhile his employer gazed raptly at the scene from where he now sat. Joe didn’t know about Chrissie, yet he picked up on the other’s strange fascination with this female’s discomfiture. A deep, healing satisfaction seemed to be there too. ‘Get those knees higher. Higher,’ shouted the DI, snapping with the cane at the backs of her thighs. ‘Bend those knees, girl — BEND THOSE KNEES…’
Belinda was gasping, knees pumping up and down, legs steadily tiring, nerves screaming. She was not at all cold any more. ‘About TURN!’ The grating scream impacted on her senses, swivelling her round to face the far wall. ‘Quick march!’
Belinda stepped out as smartly as she could, breasts and buttocks shuddering at each clacking collision of heel with floor. The wall swam up to her. Stuart Baverstock was a presence anchoring her to Chrissie. She was Chrissie. She almost grinned cheekily, as Chrissie might have, despite the jolting shocks of that parade-ground voice and her utter nakedness.
‘About… TURN!’ Again she swung round, began to march back. ‘Head up, girl — keep it UP! Swing those arms!’ Belinda lifted her chin almost haughtily, seeking frantically to retain some scrap of dignity. This was for Chrissie. ‘Oh sister dear,’ she thought, ‘when I find you I’ll smack your naughty little bottom myself — good and hard!’
The DI had returned with crashing steps to his original position, his back at all times ramrod-straight. ‘About turn!’ he thundered when she had stridden with incongruous military steps, arms swinging like a guardsman, the length of the hall. Twice, three times, four, she marched it, her brain beginning to swirl. Belinda ached, shivered, sweated, yet kept her head high.
Another ‘About TURN!’ swung her round. She blinked, croaking for breath. Instead of the DI, who had moved behind her, Stuart Baverstock now stood facing her imposingly from the end of the hall. Belinda marched. towards him, trying a little swagger of hips and bottom as Chrissie would have done. His searching, suffering eyes absorbed her. ‘Left, right — left, right — left, RIGHT!’ The DI’s fearsome roars propelled her onwards. Her legs felt like jelly. ‘Head up, shoulders back! Swing those arms…!’
‘HALT!’ Belinda halted, gasping, directly in front of the businessman. In his hand was a flat, multi-thonged leather strap. Alarm spurted through the girl. ‘About turn!’ came the command. The girl alertly obeyed, sensing the man’s closeness behind her back.
‘Touch toes!’ Belinda made to cry out a plea. ‘Bend down and touch your toes!’ insisted the DI. Horrified, she dipped forward at the waist till her fingers touched her toe-tips. Her face flamed with humiliation as the skin tightened over her bare buttocks which were now thrust tauntingly, invitingly, out to the man.
Stuart stared in stern rapture at ‘Chrissie’ Laine’s naked jutting bottom. Oh, how she deserved this! Savouring every second he slowly drew back the strap, paused, then brought the thongs hissing down to strike with a loud slapping crack! across the straining petal-soft pillows of that divine posterior. Belinda yelped, scalded, as the pain lashed in like acid. She straightened up, wanting to cup her bottom and rub. ‘Quick march!’ No time to think, only to obey! Fighting back tears of appalling embarrassment and the stinging pain which now swarmed all over her buttocks she marched up to the DI.
‘About turn… HALT.’ The ex-soldier’s implacable features were only inches from hers, snarling in fury ‘You will not approach me in that idle manner! Pick your feet up, pick-them-up! Slovenly marching!’ The DI swung his cane across the side of the girl’s lower buttock and upper thigh. It felt like a burning brand, and Belinda’s head jerked back in a cry of agony. ‘Quick MARCH!’
She marched back to Baverstock on tottering legs, and was halted before him. Right… turn.’ In a daze Belinda turned to her right. ‘Marching on the spot — begin.’ Up, up, up went her knees. ‘Halt!’ Stuart licked his lips in pleasurable anticipation. ‘Bend right over and touch your toes,’ came the DI’s growled command. Belinda again dipped her body steeply forward, prominently displaying her blushing globes. The strap in Stuart’s hand hissed down a second time to impact loudly on that taunting bare backside — Chrissie’s bare backside! The girl yelled out as flames of flashfire intensity blasted through her bottom.
‘Quick march. Keep moving!’ Flushed with mortification,. her buttocks ablaze, Belinda was moving, trying to lift her legs and swing her arms, aching and smarting. fighting back tears. Again the DI’s raging face loomed up. ‘I’ve never seen such disgraceful marching!’ he blared, swinging his cane. It flicked against her upper thigh with a sting like a hundred hornets. ‘Quick MARCH.’
Staggered by the pain, Belinda swung back towards Stuart; stood before him, knees pumping. He could see that her eyes were wet, yet her nipples still jutted. ‘You are Chrissie,’ he breathed. ‘Turn to your right. Bend right down.’ It was his voice this time. Belinda doubled over, resignedly now. The strap whistled down, and she jerked wildly as it splatted across her scorched bottom for a third time. And Stuart smiled as ‘Chrissie’ shrieked.
‘Quick march!’ Please, no more, thought Belinda as she dragged her limbs into motion, tottering towards the unyielding military figure who watched her with a look of outrage. ‘You idle, slovenly female!’ came the terrifying shout. ‘Not good enough! About TURN — lef, right — lef, right…’ The girl marched up to Stuart, wanting to cry and plead with him, yet her pride kept her silent. ‘Halt! Right turn.’ Belinda did as instructed. ‘Bend over… touch toes!’ barked the DI.
With a sigh Belinda bent over. Her legs would barely hold her up. Her bottom felt hot and scarlet. Wielded by the stern-faced businessman the strap exploded against the livid cheeks with an echoing concussion, followed by a dreadful screech as the scalding agony spurted deep into the pert young buttocks.
Another roared command and somehow Belinda was marching again, stumbling and dazed. ‘Pick those feet up — hup… hup… HUP.’ The DI’s cane cracked excruciatingly against her left thigh for a third time. She yelped as the scourge boiled briefly across her skin; lurched forward again and returned to the businessman. ‘Lef, right — lef, right… HALT!’
Stuart Baverstock’s voice was in her ear. ‘Bend right forward, Miss Laine,’ it ordered. ‘Put your hands on your knees this time, and push out that delightful rear.’ Belinda stooped forward, feeling her buttocks part and spread. Tensely she waited for the blow.
‘Your sister behaved disgracefully,’ he continued. ‘This, too, is for her.’ There was another agonising pause as he drew back his arm — then Stuart swung the strap with all his force and weight behind it. A multi-thonged splash of pure agony erupted through the girl’s trembling buttocks with appalling intensity. With a yowl the recipient lurched forward and straightened up, shaking violently. Her thigh was marked by cane-strokes, her bottom-cheeks wealed crimson by the strap. Yet her nipples still were stiff, her eyes lustrous with an extraordinary, unbelievable promise.
The Managing Director nodded at his Head of Security, who sprang to attention and saluted smartly. ‘Instruction complete — SIR!’ he reported, then turned on his heel and marched from the hall. When Belinda had dressed she turned an imploring, tear-streaked face to the businessman. ‘My sister…’ she began.
Stuart took a piece of paper from his wallet. He felt cleansed, released from the bitterness that Chrissie Laine had inspired in him. Instead he found himself experiencing fresh stirrings of an old emotion as he gazed at that wickedly desirable girl’s delicious double. New pangs: a rebirth, headily dangerous, and all the more attractive for that. ‘Here is your sister’s last address,’ he said, handing her the paper. Their fingers brushed, silk against leather. ‘But as you know, Miss Laine,’ he went on, ‘Chrissie is hardly a stable sort, and I rather doubt if she still lives there.’
Belinda peered at the paper. There was another telephone number on it — his own. She folded the paper neatly. Very neatly. So unlike her sister. ‘If you should have any difficulty,’ said Stuart, ‘do give me a ring.’She rubbed her soft, scalding buttocks through the thin pants. A pleasurable warmth was already replacing the biting pain. She felt indescribable relief that her ordeal was over. The tiniest smile moved the corners of her mouth, and that look was back in her eyes. ‘Very well, sir,’ Belinda said.