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Sunday, 20 September 2020

Points of View

From Blushes Uniform Girls 6. This young lady also starred in the Reform School Discipline videos in what looks like the same room, I think. I love the position he has her in with her legs trapped in place by the bar of the desk.
The telephone on the wide, leather-topped desk purred softly and a slim, well-manicured hand lifted the receiver. It could have been the hand of a woman but, in fact, it belonged to Ian Dacre, acting Headmaster of Nedley Hall School.
‘Dacre speaking…’
‘Ahh… I wanted to speak to Mr Chambers, the Head.’ It was a woman’s voice; a cultured one, at that.
‘I am afraid Mr Chambers left for a three-week holiday last weekend.’
‘I see.’ A pause. ‘And you are acting for him?’
‘That is correct. May I enquire who is speaking.’
‘My name is Millicent Vigor. My ward, Elizabeth, is at your school. I believe she likes to use the name Lisa.’
‘Yes… I know Lisa. This is her last year. She is in the sixth.’ In his mind’s eye, Ian Dacre saw the pert face of the girl whose hair was usually worn in a single pony-tail tied with a navy-blue ribbon. She was one of a number who seemed to have grown up considerably in recent months. ‘The girl is doing quite well in her work.’
‘That’s as maybe, Mr Dacre. But I have just discovered she has been behaving disgracefully while she was on holiday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. What has she been doing?’
‘It is something I am not prepared to discuss on the telephone, Mr Dacre. Altogether too delicate for that. However, I shall be writing to you and enclosing a letter that came into my possession — quite by accident.’
‘Very well, Mrs Vigor… but what do you want me to do about it?’
‘I want the girl punished, Mr Dacre. And when I say punished, I mean in the old-fashioned sense. Someone at the school is to give her a good hiding. After all, you are 75% responsible for her upbringing and general behaviour.’
Ian Dacre experienced a tingling all over his scalp. What a piece of luck — old Chambers being away. It looked as if something he had so often wished he could do was coming his way.
‘Do I understand you correctly, Mrs Vigor? You want me — one of us here — to employ corporal punishment? This must be a serious matter.’ He tried to keep his voice steady.
‘It is… and I do.’
Ian Dacre coughed gently. ‘Er… Mrs Vigor, when you send your letter, I would ask you to make a statement regarding this matter. Giving us your full authority, that is.
‘I shall do that, Mr Dacre. Good day to you.’
The phone clicked and the dialling tone returned. Ian Dacre put back the receiver. His scalp was still tingling; and so, it seemed, were other parts of him as well. Well I’m damned, he said to himself, who would ever have believed it? In this day and age. A formal, almost official, request, that an 18-year-old girl get a ‘good hiding’! It was unheard of.
But wasn’t there a risk? Bet old Chambers would have thought so. He’d have ducked round the situation in some way. Well, he wasn’t going to.
Such opportunities probably came only once in a lifetime.
Still, it might be best not to get too excited until he had seen this Mrs Vigor’s letter.
----//----
It was the most marvellous school holiday I’d ever had. Admittedly, I’d had to spend it with boring old Aunt Millicent, but that isn’t the point. I’ve always had to do that since Mummy and Daddy passed away — so I’m used to it. She never thinks about taking me anywhere, especially not abroad. Her idea of a good time is traipsing round some ghastly Country Home or going to an Art Gallery. Yucck!
No… it was Trevor, of course, who made it so marvellous. In fact, he made me into a woman. Yes, just coming up to 18, I became a woman. I can’t stop thinking about it and how thrilling it all was. A little frightening, of course… but then, the first time always must be, I suppose.
He was very sweet, even if a bit over-excited. We’d been into heavy petting before, but nothing like this. This was the real thing. Oh my God, it felt fantastic. I keep on thinking about it still, even though it’s weeks away now. I’d felt it with my hand before, but I’d never felt it in me before. It blows your mind. You say things and do things you’d never believe. I love him. Well… I love him for what he did. And I can hardly wait for this damn term to end.
Even as I sit here now, doing this bloody French translation, I keep on thinking about him. And about his being in me. About how terrific it felt. How big and powerful. Oh my God… until you’ve felt it you never truly know. Playing around is fun (a relief, anyway) but the real thing is something else.
It’s absurd I should still be at school at 18. After all, I really am a grown-up woman now.
I’ll write him a letter tonight, telling him how much I adore him. How much I want him. He told me he was 24. Does he think of me as a schoolgirl — or a woman? I don’t think ask him that. Not yet.
----//----
The acting Head read Mrs Vigor’s letter, then studied the letter which accompanied it. It was, very obviously, sent to Lisa, from some virile young man who had had it away with the girl in the summer holidays. He was quite lyrical about the experience. Very frank, very explicit. He could hardly wait for the next school holiday. No wonder Lisa’s ward, Mrs Vigor, had been shocked. She had been born in an era when pre-marital sex was definitely taboo and, when you were at last allowed it, you turned the light out.
No doubt at all, from the evidence in his hands, that Lisa was guilty. In the eyes of her Guardian, anyway. That was what counted. No doubt at all, also, of the instructions spelled out by that Guardian. She gave full permission for the girl to be punished in ‘an old-fashioned way’. She even added:- ‘in my view, I think she should be soundly caned. I was once at my Boarding School (for a far more trivial offence than this) and I know it set me on the right path into adult life. I want you, sir, to do the same for Elizabeth. My mind recoils from the thought that her indecent behaviour might make her pregnant. Whatever should we do then? You understand my anxiety. Reform her now… just as soon as you can.’
Well, reflected Ian, you couldn’t have a clearer brief than that. A demand for corporal punishment from a guardian. If he carried it out, how could he ever be blamed if the girl complained? To whom could she complain anyway? Mrs Vigor, he had found out, was a JP in her own county and could certainly bring pressure to bear on those similarly placed. If necessary.
Ian Dacre rubbed his slim, womanly hands together, feeling a glow of satisfaction permeating him. Frankly, he said to himself, from that point onwards, he couldn’t see how he could go wrong.
He scribbled a note and called in his secretary. ‘Have this taken to Miss Marshall,’ he said. ‘Right away.’
‘I’ll take it myself, sir.’
‘Please do…’
----//----
A maths class. How I hate sums! And algebra. And geometry. In God’s name what is the point of them?
Life should be active. Physical. Loving. Life should be a relationship between people. Life should be Trevor.
Who the hell ever cared about the Square on the Hypotenuse? Has anyone ever used such a piece of information?
Of course not!
There’s someone knocking on the door. That’s a diversion, anyway. Ah… it’s Gillie-brand, Nakers-Dacre’s secretary. She’s quite pretty; I wonder if he fancies her. I doubt it. Reckon he could well be queer. Those nasty little white hands of his. Uughh!
Archimedes (that’s what we call that cow Mrs Archer!) is reading the note that’s been handed to her. What’s going on?
‘Lisa… you are to report to the Head’s study immediately.’
Me? That’s odd. What the hell’s going on? Perhaps Aunt Millicent has fallen off her perch. That would be a relief anyway!
Still, it must be something quite serious, otherwise the class wouldn’t have been interrupted. I feel quite excited in an odd way. Anything out of the usual routine is a bonus.
‘May I go then, Mrs Archer?’ I ask, standing up.
‘You may, Lisa.’ Her features are as po-faced as ever. Who would ever become a schoolmistress? Or a schoolmaster, for that matter?
----//----
Yes, she has grown up a lot. Longer legs. That gymslip is far too short now. Delightfully so. Not much point in having a new one in your last year. Thank goodness. Cheeky little face with a tip-tilt nose. She’s giving me a come-on smile, I reckon, as she moves towards my desk. Thinks she knows it all, already. Oh dear, oh dear!
‘I had a note. Asking me to come to your study, sir.’
‘That’s right, Lisa.’ How sweet and innocent she looks — still with that pigtail and navy-blue ribbon. ‘A rather serious matter, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’ She looks rather pleased. ‘Something to do with Aunt Millicent, is it?’
‘In a way…’
‘She’s alright, is she?’
‘Perfectly alright.’ The girl looks a shade disappointed. Ian got the impression she’s no fan of her guardian. Well, fair enough. ‘It is to do with your behaviour. While you were on holiday.’
‘My behaviour? I don’t understand.’ Ian realised at once she does understand. Are not her cheeks turning a delicious pink colour? Oh, my-my, this is going to turn out splendidly.
‘When you read this letter, Lisa, I think you will understand.’ Ian tosses her lover’s missive across his desk and she grabs it almost frantically, gasping out as she does so.
‘A-ahh… oooh… where did you get this? Oh… how could you?’
‘Better ask your guardian that.’ Ian sees her reading the letter furiously, her cheeks changing from pink to scarlet. She keeps on gasping and crying out.
‘How did she find it…? Oh it’s beastly… so beastly! This is a private letter!’
‘No longer, Lisa,’ I say. ‘And what is more, Lisa, I have your guardian’s full instructions to deal with this matter. Then he pushed Mrs Vigor’s letter across his desk. She snatched it up.
----//----
Oh God, this is awful! How could it have happened? My whole world has crumbled. A few minutes ago I was so happy with my memories. Now this! I feel ashamed and dirty. It’s all the worse because I’m in front of him. He knows! Oh I could kill Aunt Millicent for this!
That second letter, though. The one from her. It’s even worse. In fact, it’s unbelievable. A good hiding? Is she mad? They can’t do anything like that to me. I’m a woman now. He’s going on again…
‘Your guardian has directed that you be punished, Lisa. And I intend to carry out her instructions. I think, in view of your behaviour, they will be beneficial to you.’
Punished? What is he on about? Is he serious? The whole thing is ridiculous.
‘I have decided the best thing to do, Lisa, is to cane you.’
Cane me!
He must be round the bend!
----//----
She’s certainly looking rather stunned. Not surprising. This young lady has had it all her own way for too long.
‘You can’t cane me!’ she almost screams.
‘We’ll see about that.’ He’s trying to keep calm but it’s not easy. ‘The instructions of your guardian are that I do cane you,’ he finds himself saying. ‘What is more — and even more important from your point of view — if you try and defy these instructions, she will expel you from her house…’
‘I wouldn’t mind that!’
Ian can’t help smiling as he plays his trump card. ‘But, on top of that, she will see that you are disinherited. Not difficult. She has already been in touch with lawyers.’
‘I… I… I… d-don’t believe it…’
‘You’d better, Lisa, because it’s the truth.’
----//----
Disinherit me! I thought of all that lovely money in trust from Grandpa. What I’d get when I was 21. It was going to take me round the world. Several times, if need be. There must be over a quarter of a million lying there. The idea of losing that is quite terrifying. I’ve been dreaming about all that loot coming to me for years. Could she do it? Knowing Aunt Millicent, I reckon it is right up her street.
‘If you would like confirmation, you may telephone your guardian,’ he says.
‘No!’ The word bursts out. I couldn’t bear talking to her at that moment. Oh God, what am I going to do? A caning! It’s barbaric. It doesn’t happen these days. Not to girls like me, anyway.
‘Well then, Lisa, what is your answer going to be. Expulsion and disinheritance? Or a caning?’
----//----
Ian can see the struggle going on within her. Greed for money warring against fear of pain and the shame of it all. Her hands keep clenching and unclenching; she bites her lips furiously.
‘A-alright then…’ she says at long last. ‘A… a caning then.’
‘I think you have made the right decision, Lisa,’ he says. ‘A brief discomfort is preferable to a penniless lifetime.’ He knows he sounds pompous and it is difficult to check the excitement bubbling up within him. She’s 18, he keeps saying to himself, and he’s going to cane her. Incredible, but true!
His hand shakes a little as he opens the desk drawer and takes out the cane he has placed there. Then he moves round to the front of the desk. The slim, supple rod sways flexibly up and down as he moves. She gives a gasp and closes her eyes.
‘O-oh… oh this is a-awful…’ she says. Then she holds out her right hand, palm uppermost.
I can’t help smiling faintly. ‘You seem to be under a misapprehension, Lisa,’ he says. The caning you are to receive will be upon your bottom.’
‘W-what! Are you out of your mind?’ Her eyes open wide. ‘It… it’s indecent!’
‘Maybe, maybe not. In any event, that form of punishment was specified by your guardian. So that is how it will be.’ Ian is lying, of course. She gave no set instructions. Still, she had used the description ‘old-fashioned’ and to his mind that implied a bottom caning.
‘You can’t! I… I… won’t let you!’ She is getting a shade hysterical. Not surprising really.
‘Very well, Lisa,’ he says as calmly as possible. ‘Then I shall have to communicate with your guardian and put the other alternative into operation.’ He moves back behind his desk and picks up the telephone.
‘Stop!’ It is almost a shriek. Then she sinks to the floor, bursting into tears and covering her face with her hands.
----//----
What am I going to do? Oh can’t someone help me? This is too awful. A caning on the bottom — at my age! It’s unthinkable. But so is the alternative. Not a penny coming to me.
Oh what am I going to do?
I hate her! I hate him too. If he were a gentleman he’d let me off. Just pretend he’d done it. But he’s not a gentleman, he’s a creep. I bet he even wants to do it!
Oh God, he’s dialling. I must stop him. I can’t lose that money. I’m up on my feet, feeling dizzy.
‘Alright… alright… I’ll let you… do it…’
‘Sensible of you, Lisa,’ he says as he replaces the receiver. ‘Now let’s have no more nonsense young lady. Let’s just get it over with.’
----//----
Ian thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to go through with it. But love of money is a most potent persuader.
‘Must you? Must you?’ Her little hands are held out imploringly. ‘Can’t I give you money… instead. Yes… if you let me off, I will…’
Cheeky little monkey! Trying to bribe me. Well, if she’d offered him something else, he might have considered it. Or would he? That’s freely available these days whereas giving a caning is something exceedingly rare.
‘Don’t be so insolent, girl!’ he snaps. ‘How dare you offer me money?’ he sounds truly indignant but he’s not really. ‘Now… you will bend across my desk and you will pull up your skirt.’
‘What? How dare you?’ She’s scarlet again.
‘How dare I what?’ He flexes the cane. Oh that feels good in his hands!
‘Suggest I… I… p-pull up my skirt…’
‘Because, Lisa,’ he says firmly, ‘you are to be caned on your bare bottom. Instructions again. It follows, therefore, that not only will you pull up your skirt but you will take your knickers down as well!’
She goes rather berserk at that. Running around the room and then pounding her fists on his desk. Using some surprisingly foul language for a girl of her age. He lets the frenzy pass, seating himself at his desk once more. No doubt this has all come as a great shock to her.
‘It… it’s disgusting… v-vile… in-indecent! Oh you swine… you swine!’
‘You can take it or leave it, Lisa. I’ll give you two more minutes, Lisa. Just two. And I mean that. There will be no turning back.’
----//----
Two minutes? I don’t need two minutes. I’ll never do it. Not that. Not in front of him. The filthy beast! Oh how can Aunt Millicent have got me into this?
It’s unbelievable. Unbearable. Oh what can I do?
‘The two minutes are up, Lisa…’
My mind is one big scream. I seem to be boiling inside. I can’t do it. I can’t. It’s too horrible.
But I must. I must.
Somehow I must make myself do it.
In a few minutes it will all be over. And I’ll keep my inheritance.
The effort to move round to the front of his desk is terrible. My legs feel as if they are made of rubber. There is sickness at the back of my throat. My head is pounding.
He’s standing up. He’s coming round; with that cane in his hand. It’s going to happen. It going to.
Now!
‘Bend over, Lisa,’ he says.
----//----
Yes, quite some struggle that. Still, greed finally won, I’m pleased to say. She bends reluctantly, palms on top of the desk. ‘Stretch your arms out fully,’ he orders, ‘and grip the far side of the desk.’ Sobbing, she does so. Ian sees her calves trembling. Obviously she is not going to pull up her skirt herself. He’ll have to do it. Not exactly a chore!
The blue gymslip is so short it has already ridden over halfway up her long, bare thighs. I lift it and tuck the lower hem into her waistband. A delightfully rounded bottom is revealed, scantily covered in a pair of pale blue briefs.
Standard knickers in the school are blue serge, but sixth formers are allowed to make a choice of their own. He thoroughly approves of Lisa’s choice. Very pretty. However, even if they offer no protection, they must come down.
His fingers are on the thin elastic and he tugs gently. Don’t want to tear them, do we? Or do we? In a sudden surge of what he can only term lustful excitement, he rips the flimsy item off her, baring a deliciously quivering, creamy-white bottom. That Trevor was indeed a lucky chap! Her thighs are clamped tight together and he gets the impression, at that moment, she is far more concerned about this ‘indecent’ exposure than the caning to come. However, when she feels the cane, things will change, I’m sure!
‘For your wicked behaviour in the holidays, Lisa,’ he says, ‘I am giving you six strokes…’
‘Oh God no!’
‘And, for daring to try to bribe me, I am giving you two extra.’
‘O-oh… no… that’s t-too… much… please… please… n-not… h-hard…’
There’s a point. How hard is he going to give them to her? Better not be too hard since she’s utterly unfamiliar to pain of this kind. Still, there was no need to be too gentle either. Mrs Vigor would not approve of that! As he measures that delightful, girlish bottom, the tip of the cane touches it and she flinches violently.
Up… to shoulder-height… then down… with a wristy swish at the end. The main part of the cane falls across both curving cheeks and the end curls round her flank. With a wild shriek she erupts off the desk, hands clasping her buttock-cheeks, as she writhes on her knees by the desk, gasping disbelievingly.
----//----
The pain! Oh my God! Far worse than I had let myself imagine. Burning… burning. Oh I won’t be able to stand another seven like that. Just not possible.
‘Come along, Lisa, back over my desk. You’ve got to be brave about this…’
Brave! Has he the faintest conception of how much it hurts? ‘N-not… so… h-hard mmm… mmmfff…’ I’m begging. How humiliating. But what does that matter?
‘Up you come, Lisa. We haven’t got all day…’
Oh God… I must do it. I suddenly think of Trevor. Was it worth this? Then I am back over the desk, the cold leather against my belly. I just can’t stop my bottom clenching and twisting away in dread.
----//----
It makes a delightful spectacle, does that young bottom. It’s quaking with apprehension. Mmm… that’s a nice bright weal. Perhaps he gave it to her harder than he originally meant. Ah well…
Another cut. This time a little lower. And, once more, she’s wriggling and gasping on her knees. ‘D-don’t… oh don’t…’ she’s moaning. ‘ I… I’m… a w-woman…’ You can say that again, he thinks. ‘How can you treat me like this?’
‘Because you deserve it, Lisa,’ he says harshly. ‘Now get back over my desk. At once!’
Ian considered it time to put a bit of pressure on. Before she starts getting half-hysterical and backing out of it. It is satisfying to see her drape herself over his desk again, with those lovely rounded cheeks twisting and flinching. Two tiny pink tramlines now. How long will they remain visible, he wonders. For far less time than the memory of them!
Number three descends swishily but, this time, she manages to remain over the desk, with hindquarters squirming and legs kicking. Most spectacular!
‘That’s better, Lisa,’ he commends. ‘Quite brave…’
But number four has her down on the floor again, clasping and clasping. She’s weeping unashamedly now. ‘Uurrff… uuurrrf… no more… oh no… more… uuuffffff.’
‘I am afraid, Lisa,’ he says firmly, ‘your complete punishment must be carried out. Otherwise the whole arrangement will be null and void. Come along. We’re halfway now. Back you get.’
----//----
Halfway. Only halfway! Not the same all over again, surely. I can’t bear it. It hurts so. Like a hot wire being laid over your skin. Who would have believed anything could have hurt so much? I’ll have to give up. I just can’t stand anymore.
‘Lisa… it would be silly not to go on now. After all you have suffered already. Am I not right?’
The filthy beast is right. But how can I make myself get back over that desk? When it hurts so?
How? How?
Then… sobbing and sobbing like some little kid — I find myself doing it. Sliding back over the cold leather. Twisting and flinching. Hating the whole world.
I can’t bear it. But I must. I must!

Spanking Art — Darcy 15: Sobbing Selfies

 Another original illustration from Darcy.

Peter had first asked, then told his stepdaughter to put her phone away during dinner. But she had kept on texting and taking ‘selfies’ anyway.

So at bedtime Peter made her take her phone out and take a picture of her tear-stained face after each one of the 12 strokes he gave her with his cane.

‘When we’re finished you can send them to me. I intend to share them with my friends so they can enjoy you crying as much as I do.’

‘I’m sorry Daddy. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t hit me anymore.’

‘But you’ve only had a dozen you silly thing. I tell you what. Switch your phone to video and maybe I’ll go a little easier on you with the rest. Maybe. Now, bend over…’

Saturday, 19 September 2020

Brought to Account

Photo-story from Janus 154, a sequel to Coming a Cropper. Stunning girl.
‘Now, Rupert,’ Lady Marsha Tewkesbury had begun with a steely edge to her refined voice, ‘the girl has a transcendental arse. She also happens to be extremely pretty in a dark kind of way — a bit of a Posh Spice lookalike without the money and husband, although to my mind far perter and sweeter; as well as a good deal younger, softer and curvier. God, I could have almost eaten her myself when I had cause to chastise her physically.’
Rupert Purbright, her accountant, had grunted incredulously. ‘You beat her?’
‘Most certainly,’ the stable-owning aristocrat had affirmed. ‘That one needs smartening up on a regular basis. She’s talented — no doubt about that, and I hope to make a useful eventer out of her yet — but she can be rather silly and thoughtless. Can you believe she fed a Mars bar to my best horse a few weeks ago?’
‘Is that bad?’
‘Well of course it’s bad, Rupert. Chocolate contains forbidden stimulants. So a random drugs test came up positive. Cost me two grand and a slapped wrist. So I took it out on her bare bottom.’
‘But this is unbelievable,’ the accountant had said with a gasp. His face went red, then white, and sweat gleamed on his sensible brow. ‘Surely that’s not allowed in this day and age?’ But the image Lady Marsha conjured up had left him distinctly flustered, with an embarrassing stiffening in his trousers. He’d recently caught sight of the stable girl putting a horse through its paces, and had been captivated. ‘She really is quite a filly herself,’ he’d said at the time in a clumsy attempt at a joke, and Lady Marsha knew she had him at her Machiavellian mercy.
‘Allowed?’ she echoed. ‘How quaint! Circumstances make their own rules here, as well you know. And I know you well enough by now, Rupert, to know that you saw the girl getting up in the saddle in those jodhpurs she squeezes into, and got the hots for her as you watched that tight little derriere bumping up and down on the saddle as she trotted the horse around.’
‘Well, really,’ the accountant had blustered. ‘I hope you’re joking!’
‘Men!’ Lady Marsha laughed, wagging a finger in front of his studious face. ‘I’d bet good money that you’d love to pull that girl across your knee, haul down those britches and give her saucy butt a thundering good hiding.’
‘Oh dear.’ Rupert Purbright had felt obliged to sit down. He was palpitating. His client often teased him for his lack of worldliness when it came to the fairer sex, but this was different. For Lady Marsha appeared, possibly by chance, to have touched on the one fantasy he would give his life to fulfil — namely, to strip and spank the bottom of a beautiful girl. Like this one. Now what was her name?
‘Helen Daniels,’ his client had said, as if reading his perspiring thoughts. With a scented lace-scrap from her sleeve she’d dabbed at his heated forehead. Her voice had softened. ‘Well, shall we get down to business?’
‘B-business?’ The accountant had glared up at her, startled, through his austere spectacles.
‘Oh, spare me the puzzled look,’ she’d said with a touch of exasperation. ‘The offshore account we discussed. The one we could transfer a section of the stud’s takings directly into and save thousands of pounds in tax every year.’
‘I thought we’d dealt with that,’ Rupert had mumbled. ‘Hardly kosher.’
‘Not actually illegal, either?’
‘Well, no…’ he’d said uncomfortably. ‘Not if it’s done in a certain way, I suppose.’
‘Then do it.’
‘I thought I’d made myself clear, Lady Marsha — I really don’t think I can. Professional ethics and all that.’
‘Ethics?’ echoed the stud owner with a derisive snort. ‘Isn’t that a county next to Hertfordshire? What would induce you to bend the rules?’
The accountant bridled. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting a bribe?’
‘Better than that,’ Lady Marsha had murmured, sidling around him. ‘This girl, Helen Daniels, has done the stupidest thing. Overgalloped a horse that was due to showjump, and crocked its ankle. She’s very contrite — always is — but I warned her last time that any further lapses would be dealt with in the same manner as with the doping issue.’
The man had stared at her. ‘You mean you’re going to beat her again?’ His tongue hung out.
‘No, Rupert,’ his illustrious client had said. ‘You are. If you’d like to, that is…’
----//----
So it was that the stable girl called Helen Daniels trudged, deep in troubled thoughts, towards the tack room where a message from Lady Marsha had instructed her to report. Helen knew she was in trouble, and what the consequences were likely to be, for her employer had warned her clearly enough that any further mistakes would attract the same punishment she’d received following the so-called ‘doping’ incident (see Janus 152). The horse she had inadvertently lamed, Nobu San, seemed to watch her sympathetically as she walked slowly from the field and into the outhouse by the stableyard at the time appointed.
On being punished that first time it had happened up at the house amid the plush furnishings. Clearly, the setting today was not to be so grand. But it wasn’t Milady who was waiting for her, but a rather officious-looking bespectacled man with a tense, serious face.
Helen gaped at him. ‘I-I was told to report here,’ she said nervously. ‘Maybe I’ve made a mistake.’
‘No, Miss Daniels,’ the man returned in stern tones, frowning and squaring his shoulders. ‘You’ve made no mistake, apart from the latest one Lady Tewkesbury has told me about regarding, I believe, a certain horse.’
If Helen hadn’t been so preoccupied with her own inner musings she might have detected that the man was nervous. For Rupert Purbright, on seeing the divine creature of his fantasies slip into view wearing those tight riding britches with black leather boots, brown-checked riding jacket over pale T-shirt top, coal-dark eyes wide with apprehension as her slender hands fingered the crop she carried, almost lost his nerve completely.
He watched the girl struggle to make sense of the situation. She’d taken off her riding hat, and dark-brown hair hung fetchingly around her appealingly elfin face. An unexpected thrill ran through him at the girl’s appearance of absolute submissiveness, and he felt his anxiety dissolving in the face of her compliancy.
He noticed that her lips were very pretty. Awkward though Rupert usually was with the ladies, he had a strong urge to draw the girl roughly against him and press his mouth hungrily on hers. But he was aware that the urge was ridiculously inappropriate, and made a conscious effort to pull himself together. She was here to be punished, after all!
‘I’ve been given the task of giving you a beating,’ he found himself saying. The word sounded antiquated, and didn’t really represent the kind of chastisement he longed to give her. Beatings were what boys received in public schools of old, not pretty stable girls with a face and figure to die for.
‘Y-you?’ Her dark eyes, wide with shock, fixed on his. ‘But I thought Lady Marsha…’
‘She has asked me if I would do the honours in her place.’ Rupert almost made the mistake of injecting lightness of tone into their tense communication. He saw her blink, glance huntedly from side to side as if seeking a way of escape, and knew that if she were to simply turn and walk out of there he would be powerless to stop her. And ‘power’, it seemed, was all that was holding Helen Daniels there. It astonished him that this lovely girl should consider that he, Rupert Purbright, chartered accountant, possessed such power.
An increasingly tense silence grew between them as she fiddled anxiously with her riding crop. Helen had felt the sting of such an implement, for Lady Marsha had thrashed her bottom so hard with one that sitting in the saddle had been painful for quite some time afterwards. Rupert began to panic, aware that he must dominate the scene in some way, and quickly, or he would have no scene at all.
He cleared his throat as if about to deliver a speech at a board meeting. ‘I take it you have been, er, punished before in this particular way?’ he said ponderously.
Helen’s startled gaze swung floorwards. ‘What particular way, sir?’
Rupert like the ‘sir’. It gave him courage. ‘By being spanked, girl. Struck on your buttocks! Do I make myself clear?’
The errant stable girl made a sound oddly like a sigh. ‘Yes, sir. Lady Marsha did it to me.’
‘Well, at her request, I’m about to do the same to you. Look me in the face.’
Helen’s chin lifted, and her eyes met his. He saw that they were moist, as if she might weep at any moment. But she bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and managed to control herself.
‘Do you accept the fact,’ Rupert went on with a catch in his voice, ‘that I’m about to spank and beat you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right here, and right now?’
The girl’s head nodded in assent. She couldn’t look at him. The man swelled his chest, trying to contain his mounting ecstasy. He cleared his throat again, and went on. ‘And you accept the fact that I’m about to lay you across my knees in those delightfully tight jodhpurs and spank your wicked little backside hard and firm until it’s stinging? That I will then pull down your britches and slap your extremely shapely bottom over whatever you might be wearing beneath? And that I will then remove such coverings so as to render your deliciously pert and beautiful young arse completely naked, whereupon I shall smack, slap and spank it until it’s red and glowing like a little furnace? That I shall then bend you across the back of a chair and cane your hot, bare buttocks so soundly that you will thereafter be extremely careful about how you discharge your duties as a stable girl in the future?’
Another silence grew between them. While he’d been talking, Helen’s head had sunk lower, unable to meet his fervid glare. Then she raised it again. Had the feverishly excited accountant not known better, he might have imagined that the flicker of a smile tugged briefly at the girl’s mouth-corners.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said quietly.
In Rupert Purbright’s mind, bells rang and bunting flew, for his long-repressed passion was about to be indulged. ‘Very well, Daniels,’ he said commandingly. ‘You will remove your jacket and prepare for punishment…’
----//----
Afterwards, she slunk for comfort to her dog, hugging him hard, for she felt little more than an animal herself. But animals were noble, so Helen didn’t mind at all. It was only human beings who were base.