Seven Scarlet Tales

by Justine Elyot

  But, of course, thirty nine wouldn’t see it that way.

  Emma was ten strokes in before she remembered that thirty nine would be flapping and squealing. Unless she was the silent, defiant, stoic type. Yes, that’s what thirty nine would be. Full of stubbornness, determined not to show weakness.

  If they wanted to break her, they’d have to work at it.

  So she let out no more than angry panting, letting her fingers curl, white-knuckled, around the metal bar of the spanking bench.

  ‘You’ve got a fighter here,’ commented Allyson as the strap fell, over and over, getting hotter now, getting sore.

  ‘We’ve had plenty of fighters,’ said Richard. ‘None of them have beaten us. In the end, you’ll be just as sorry as the others.’

  Emma gritted her teeth and shut her eyes through the last ten strokes. Blake could have been harder on her. He could have hit the same spot over and over. He could have concentrated on her tender thighs. He could have swung wider, put more force into it. But this was an introduction. Of course, there was plenty of time for that.

  ‘A good thirty,’ said Allyson. ‘Thanks, Blake. Now she knows what it’s like to have a bright red, spanked bottom. How does it feel, thirty nine?’

  ‘Fine, ma’am,’ said Emma through still-gritted teeth.

  ‘Fine, eh? Well, it looks lovely. Let’s just give you a minute or two to get used to it before I take my paddle to you. You won’t be feeling fine after that, I promise.’

  The three of them sat around Allyson’s desk and chatted about the journey and the weather for what seemed to Emma an intolerably long time. They knew she’d just want them to get it over with, but they weren’t going to give her anything she wanted.

  Blake, she learned, was a paramedic and he had a long conversation with Richard about this. It seemed he and Richard were meeting for the first time this weekend, although both of them knew Allyson.

  It was boring and annoying to be bent over a stepstool, bare, stinging bottom on display, while people behind you droned on about their work as if you didn’t exist. She kicked in her bonds, frustrated, and heard Allyson laugh.

  ‘Somebody wants more attention,’ said Blake. ‘She hasn’t had enough, has she?’

  ‘If attention’s what she wants, attention she shall have,’ vowed Allyson. ‘I’ve got a nice wooden paddle here, thirty nine. You’ll see that it feels nothing like the strap. I wonder if you’ll find it better or worse?’

  ‘A lot of our inmates hate the paddle most of all,’ said Richard. ‘Though the majority fear the cane more.’

  ‘You’ll be able to do a full comparative study very soon,’ promised Allyson. ‘Now. Stick that bottom out nice and high. You’re going to get twenty.’

  The first stroke landed with indecent loudness, fat and full on the centre of her backside. Emma couldn’t help a whimper. She really wasn’t a fan of the paddle.

  ‘This’ll get the message across,’ said Allyson, in a low, fierce whisper. ‘You can’t ignore it. I’m going to have you begging for mercy.’

  Emma had learned how to cope with the paddle, but it had been a long, hard road. Thirty nine was at the very beginning of that road and, for Emma, it was rather liberating to be able to give voice to hearty yells of protest each time the wooden oval seared into her skin. Only a few strokes in, it really was like being paddled for the first time. The panic of feeling that she couldn’t take it flooded into Emma in a rush – a response she had thought to have overcome and controlled long ago.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she whimpered at about stroke six. ‘Please, no.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Allyson, dealing stroke seven with relish. ‘Not so easy to take, eh?’

  ‘Ow, no, I can’t!’ She tried to move her bottom away from the inevitable descent, but the knee straps held her in place.

  ‘We’ll remember this,’ said Allyson. ‘Any bratty behaviour from you, and the paddle comes straight out. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you’ll be touching your toes for twenty hard strokes. Better get used to it.’

  Eight, nine, ten. Nothing of Emma existed except her bottom, a constant flare of pain consuming all her energies.

  ‘Ow, it’s horrible! I’m sorry! I’ll be good!’

  Five more in such rapid succession that she howled.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Allyson. ‘You’ll certainly be getting more of this.’

  ‘Nooooo!’

  Emma twisted her neck around. Allyson had stopped. Surely there were five more to go.

  Allyson looked weird, almost worried.

  ‘Five more,’ prompted Richard.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Allyson hurriedly. ‘Just … No, it doesn’t matter. Five more.’

  The last five were the hardest yet and Emma knew that just one more would have broken her and brought the tears out. As it was, she lay there, grateful for avoiding that particular embarrassment, letting the alarming throb slowly recede, leaving tight skin and residual sting behind.

  Allyson bent down to her ear.

  ‘You sure you’re all right with this?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Any time you want to stop …’

  ‘I’m OK. Thank you. Love you.’

  ‘Love you, too.’

  She straightened up and slapped the paddle into her palm.

  ‘Take note, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘This is what she needs.’

  ‘Better take another break before the cane,’ said Richard.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Blake. ‘No point caning a numb bum.’

  They all agreed with that, laughing. Richard went to make them a cup of tea.

  Allyson took a number of photographs of Emma’s bottom, promising to put them online on the government’s ‘Crime and Punishment’ gallery.

  ‘Won’t that be a service to the community,’ she gloated, holding Emma’s chin in her hand and forcing her to look up at her. ‘You’ll be a living deterrent. You never know, you might put someone off a life of crime. “Don’t want an arse like hers, ouch, no thanks,” they’ll say. We’ll have a little picture of your face next to it too, and your name and all the details of what you did. It’ll be out there for all to see, forever. I’ll get some snaps of you after you’ve been caned, too. I always love a caning photo.’

  Emma saw Richard go into the kitchen and return with a bottle of sherry and some glasses.

  ‘I don’t believe in caning drunk,’ he said, ‘but just a quick snifter shouldn’t hurt.’

  The cork popped, the liquid glugged, the glasses tinkled.

  Emma’s mouth was dry. Nobody was offering her a drink.

  ‘When are the others getting here?’ Blake’s voice.

  The others?

  ‘They shouldn’t be too long now,’ said Richard. ‘Unless Lucy’s managed to leave the motorway at the wrong exit. She does have a bit of form for that.’

  Emma knew better than to speak, but she made a tiny strangulated noise in her throat. Wasn’t Lucy Richard’s new girlfriend? Surely she was too inexperienced for a scene like this. And besides, Emma didn’t want the group focus diverted to any other bottom but hers. Part of the attraction of this whole scene had been the undivided attention of three hardcore tops.

  Allyson cleared her throat and spoke a bit louder, obviously picking up on Emma’s unease.

  ‘Young Lucy has been sent here as a warning, a kind of caution. She is to watch what happens to girls who don’t mend their ways before it’s too late. Her guardian and escort, Dr Sherburn, is accompanying her to pick up a few disciplinary tips of his own. I hope prisoner thirty nine’s fate will serve to convince her to improve her behaviour.’

  Oh, OK. They aren’t joining in. Just watching.

  ‘How’s that whole three-way thing going?’ Allyson’s voice was lower now, the question directed at Richard.

  ‘What, with Lucy and Rob? Well. Very well. Much better than I expected, if I’m honest.’

  ‘No jealousy or competition?’

  ‘Nothing l
ike that. Well, perhaps a little. Especially the competition. But it keeps me on my toes, which isn’t all bad.’

  ‘I couldn’t share a sub,’ said Blake.

  ‘Well, perhaps you’ll never have to,’ remarked Allyson. ‘But you haven’t found one yet, have you?’

  ‘Not permanently,’ said Blake, with a trace of a sigh. ‘I’m still looking.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Richard, and glasses clinked again, ‘here’s to play parties.’

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely,’ said Blake, and they all laughed.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Richard, after a pause. ‘I can see a bottom not too far away whose impressive colour is beginning to fade. Better do something about that.’

  ‘Can’t wait to see what she makes of the cane,’ said Blake with bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

  Emma clenched her buttocks, then relaxed them, remembering that clenching was not allowed. But surely prisoner thirty nine would clench as a matter of course?

  The gluteal muscles came back into play.

  She heard Richard’s footsteps across the wooden floorboards, then the deathly swish of the cane, making her twitch and squeal. But it didn’t land on her. He had done it merely for effect.

  ‘This is the most feared of our implements, thirty nine,’ said Richard softly.

  Emma saw the slender rattan glide in front of her face, then it was held there, vibrating slightly, it seemed. Or perhaps Richard’s hand was shaking.

  ‘Take a good look,’ he said. ‘Does it look cruel?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That’s because it is. It will be like nothing you have ever felt before, and its effects will linger. It’s a most effective reminder. How many strokes, Governor?’

  Allyson laughed.

  ‘We usually start with six,’ she said. ‘But I’m going to make it ten for this one. She’s a tough nut to crack.’

  ‘Ten it is.’

  Emma groaned and tried to prepare her body for the coming onslaught.

  She knew she could take ten strokes – she’d taken many more in the past – but her role was beginning to invade her headspace, tricking her into thinking she couldn’t possibly cope.

  Richard tapped the cane lightly across her bottom then rested it there for a moment, sizing up his stroke.

  She shivered.

  He pulled it away and let it whoosh back down, a perfect line, bearable at first then flowering into intense, white heat that made her hiss and catch her breath.

  ‘What do you think, thirty nine?’ asked Allyson from the back of the room. ‘Will ten be enough?’

  ‘Please, ma’am,’ she gasped. ‘Please don’t!’

  ‘Regrets, she’s got a few,’ said her unsympathetic lover.

  The men laughed.

  ‘You deserve it, thirty nine,’ continued Allyson. ‘Every stroke and more. And you needn’t think you won’t be getting caned again this weekend. You’re going to learn some respect. I’m going to personally make sure of it.’

  Richard was one of Emma’s favourite caners and he didn’t let her down, scoring a work of welted art across her poor buttocks. But prisoner thirty nine was not so appreciative of his skills, yelling until she was hoarse, putting her hands over her bottom so that Blake had to come and hold on to them, writhing like fury in her bonds.

  Emma swam and floated in the sharp, sizzling sting while thirty nine begged for mercy and choked on her tears. Had she split into two? It was almost as if she had. The cane had sliced her apart, giving half of her to pleasure and the other to pain.

  Dimly, somewhere around the eighth stroke, her thirty nine self realised that the ordeal was almost over and clung to that knowledge like a life raft.

  But the Governor had said there would be more to come.

  Fresh tears joined those already blurring her eyes. She was so rarely able to cry during scenes that this seemed like a victory. Yes, role-play was the way to do it. It allowed her to release her emotions in a way that cool, controlled Emma somehow couldn’t. This had been a brilliant idea. She had known it would work and she was right.

  The last two strokes were like marks of honour, the crowning achievement of an endurance test. Emma gave herself up to her sobs, amazed by them, wanting to see where they might lead her.

  ‘That’s good, thirty nine, that’s very good,’ said Richard, softly, crouching in front of her, cane still in hand. ‘You’re feeling sorry, I can see. You’re ready to change. Aren’t you?’

  She nodded, and let out some more strange noises.

  ‘Help her up,’ said Allyson.

  Come over to me. Come to me. Take me in your arms and tell me everything’s all right and I’m forgiven.

  But Allyson stayed where she was.

  It was Richard and Blake who unbuckled the straps, then took one each of her upper arms and lifted her gently to her feet.

  ‘Put her in the corner,’ said Allyson. ‘I’m going to sort out some food.’

  She disappeared into the kitchen without even catching Emma’s eye.

  Emma’s legs trembled so much that she could hardly stand in place. She leant her forehead against the wall and let it support her. Richard placed her arms behind her back, folded above her bottom, which was to remain on view.

  It was probably against regulations but he didn’t seem able to resist brushing his fingertips over the ridges he had placed on her skin. His voice was low, and a little thick, when he said, ‘Stay there until you’re ordered otherwise.’

  She stood still, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Blake went in to help and the buzz of their conversation was, tantalisingly, too quiet to decipher.

  Richard sat quietly, his presence only occasionally given away by little jingles from his iPad every now and again. She knew he was looking at her striped bottom. She wished she could see it herself.

  She had stopped sobbing now, but couldn’t seem to help sniffing rather a lot. Surely he could offer her a tissue? A runny nose seemed a humiliation too far, after everything else.

  Sometime after she had gone to the corner – it could have been ten minutes or half an hour – she heard the sound of a car engine outside.

  The armchair creaked. Richard must have stood up.

  ‘Al, they’re here,’ he called, then a burst of colder air came in, soothing Emma’s bottom just a little.

  She heard other voices, greetings, kisses.

  The front door shut and Richard said, ‘Right, all normal service is suspended – as from now you are visiting Facility Fifty One. Don’t look so spooked, Lucy. You’ve seen a caned bottom before.’

  ‘Yeah, just. Ouch.’

  The men laughed, but they soon remembered what they were here for.

  ‘Miss Ward, this is prisoner thirty nine. Dr Sherburn has brought you here in the hope that she will be an example to you. Is that right, Doctor?’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Rob, with whom Emma was not familiar.

  ‘You see her now recovering from her introductory punishment. It’s the first of many – an acclimatisation. By the time she leaves this place, she will be extremely penitent and vowing never to return.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Ah, great timing.’ Allyson was back in the room, and Emma could smell what she was bringing with her. Spaghetti bolognese, she thought. Her stomach rumbled. God, she was hungry.

  ‘Richard, could you get that spanking bench out of the way, we’re going to need to extend the table.’

  Richard obeyed Allyson’s command quickly. Emma heard the straps jingle and the stepstool contraption creaking back into its smallest configuration.

  Plates, cups, knives, forks, serving bowls being laid down on placemats.

  She wanted to ask permission to come to the table, but nobody mentioned her or spoke to her. Was she supposed to stay here while they ate? Could they really be that cruel?

  ‘Good, take a seat, everyone,’ said Allyson. ‘How was your journey?’

  Emma felt a sickening wave of dismay
wash over her, as knives and forks were taken up, and Rob and Lucy talked boringly about traffic and the weather.

  She really was excluded from the meal. But they couldn’t let her starve, surely?

  ‘What do you think of the view in here?’ asked Allyson, slyly, after Lucy had raved about the mountains, and valleys, and winding roads.

  ‘Very pleasing,’ said Rob. ‘Great work with the cane. I bet that was Richard’s hand.’ Lucy just coughed and giggled.

  ‘Got it in one,’ said Blake. ‘I’m going to ask him to give me lessons.’

  ‘Perhaps you could practise on our Lucy,’ said Richard.

  ‘Perhaps not!’ This, of course, from Lucy.

  ‘Don’t forget what you’re here for,’ Rob warned her. ‘Lessons for you, too. If you can’t behave, you might find yourself side by side with the prisoner.’

  ‘Doesn’t she get food?’ asked Lucy.

  Emma could have kissed her. Here was the question she wanted answered.

  ‘Of course,’ said Allyson. ‘But eating good food at the table is a privilege she has lost for the time being. When we’ve finished, she’ll get a bowl of porridge to eat kneeling on the floor. I doubt she’d want to sit down, anyway.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Porridge! Emma tried to block out the vision she had of a plate piled high with spaghetti and sauce, topped with Parmesan, surrounded with salad, a plate of garlic bread at the side. Not tonight.

  ‘What did she do?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Disgraceful behaviour,’ said Richard with relish. ‘Public lewdness with a group of strangers. Both men and women.’

  ‘Oh, I say.’ Lucy sounded shocked.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re any better than her,’ Rob rebuked her. ‘You know I have to keep your whorish ways in check. That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘When she was caught and arrested,’ said Allyson, stridently, ‘she had one man’s cock in her pussy, another up her arse and she was licking a woman’s clit. She was in the cloakroom of a public nightclub and customers were coming and going the whole time. Though, of course, a lot of them stopped to watch. Most of them had already felt her up on the dancefloor. That was prisoner thirty nine’s idea of a good night out. Every week.’

  Emma swallowed hard. Allyson was teasing her, turning her on.