by Various
At the inner door, which stood very slightly ajar, Judith hesitated. If she turned round now she could come back in the afternoon when Ms Morris would be alone. Then, as she dithered on the threshold, her fate was sealed: the door opened and the director herself was right before her. Without a word she took hold of Judith’s arm and drew her into the centre of the room. When she turned to close the door, Judith saw with a pang of anxiety that she locked it and dropped the key into her jacket pocket.
‘We have grave matters to deal with, and I wish to ensure we are not disturbed.’ The superintendent and his assistant sat at opposite ends of the large sofa, and it gave the young woman standing in front of them no comfort to see them nodding keenly at Ms Morris’s remark. Neither in fact looked the least bit grave, and the director had a high colour and a glint in her eyes that made Judith’s nervousness grow. This was not at all how she had imagined the encounter that would result from the delivery of the video recording.
Then, as Ms Morris began to speak, it became clear that the contents of the tape were not her prime concern and Judith’s heart sank. ‘Now, I understand that last week you brought an outsider with you on your delivery round without seeking anyone’s leave. Is that correct?’ Judith began to attempt an explanation but was instantly silenced.
‘Answer me, please. Yes or no.’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you must have realised that this was a potential compromising of our clients’ confidentiality?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, but you weren’t here, and Gwen wouldn’t –’
‘Be quiet. I’ll ask again: do you accept that you were wrong? Yes or no.’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, when Mr Jennings offered you the opportunity of summary discipline to wipe the slate clean, you should have accepted, should you not? Instead of which, you threatened him with violence. I consider such behaviour quite outrageous!’
Judith was rendered speechless by the construction that the director had put on the events in question. That she could regard the leering groper with his cane as an agent of on-the-spot justice was so at odds with the truth as to make her head spin and she gaped foolishly. However, Ms Morris was not looking for a reply.
‘And what makes the whole thing ten times worse, in my view, is your effrontery in lodging a complaint against Mr Jennings of what is sexual harassment, no less. You, my girl, have been with us barely three weeks and you have the nerve to attempt to blacken my right-hand man’s name in this way. Shame on you! I need hardly add that Mrs Butler confirms that no behaviour of the sort you allege has taken place in her presence.’
‘But, but, but –’ Judith was finding her voice ‘– but what about the video?’ As soon as she’d said it, she realised her blunder: it was something that should have been raised only when she had the boss to herself. As it was, her question seemed to set the seal on the occasion and Judith stood aghast as Ms Morris’s tirade reached a climax.
‘When I received it, I called Mr Jennings and after we had spoken I gave it him to burn. The only fit end for such a thing. How dare you!’ The lady’s colour was now even higher than before and her eyes blazed. ‘I am going to do something now that is obviously long overdue. I am going to put you over my knee and spank your bare bottom red raw.’ The last words were said with a quiet venom that rooted Judith to the spot. She flinched as the director reached forward, grasped the hem of her skirt and yanked it up over her waist.
‘Hold that!’ she snapped and signalled to the couple on the couch who got up and lifted a long wooden chest into the middle of the floor. Then they returned to their seats, leaning forwards for a good view, as Ms Morris sat on its padded top and dragged the shocked girl across her lap. An elbow pressed the back of Judith’s neck, forcing her face into the rough tweed of the cushion, and the forearm pinned her back while the other hand tugged the knickers down round her thighs. Then began a series of hearty slaps at intervals that were measured to punctuate the stream of verbal censure.
‘This (smack) is what little Judy (smack) should have had (smack) a good dose of (smack) when she was small (smack). Then (smack) we should have had (smack) less of the trouble (smack) that has earned her (smack) this spanking (smack). This is for disobedience (smack! smack! smack! smack!) and this for rudeness (smack! smack! smack! smack!); this is for spying and telling tales (smack! smack! smack! smack!) and this (smack!! smack!! smack!! smack!!) is for all Judy’s naughtiness.’
The pace and intensity of the onslaught on her behind had moved up a notch, yet while she jerked with the pain of each blow, Judith lay unresisting. It was as if her mind, unable to rationalise the humiliation of a punishment that was being inflicted to the undisguised relish of the audience, had disengaged from the possibility of evasive action. For a minute or two the spanking continued without commentary, save for Judith’s own gasps and cries; then there was a pause and Ms Morris spoke again.
‘At last this naughty bottom is getting what it deserves, but I think we have some way to go yet. So what does bad little Judy have to say, now?’ There was a further volley of slaps that made Judith yell in earnest, then: ‘Is Judy sorry for her bad behaviour?’
Appalled, Judith heard herself say: ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry – ma’am.’
‘Not sorry enough yet, I see.’ And the chastisement continued, now in a grim silence.
‘Oh, please, please. Ma’am, I’m sorry. Ow! Ow! Ple-e-e-ease!’
The whole of Judith’s posterior was now so tender that a touch would have been painful. But, if anything, the director’s smacks were growing harder minute by minute and any remaining shreds of self-control vanished. Judith howled and pleaded for it to end, all without effect, and she slumped sobbing across the implacable lap. Then, through the tears and snot of a thoroughly spanked teenager, Judith became aware that something else was happening. Oh, God, she was wet. The hot throbbing hurt of her buttocks was matched by a pulsing in her loins that was growing with each new slap and making her hips thrust into the fine weave of the director’s skirt.
Appalled, Judith realised that she was going to come. In thrall to the mounting sensations, she had a horrid certainty that the watchers had recognised her state, and through misty eyes she could see them both eagerly attentive. Then, as the spasms took hold of her and the spanking hand seemed to follow their rhythm, to a remote part of her mind there came the beginnings of knowledge. Ms Morris had intended this: somehow she had known what Judith herself did not. Then even these glimmerings of understanding were wiped out as the abject Judy, cringing under the leering gaze of Mr Jennings and Mrs Butler, convulsed in orgasm.
Afterwards, she slid off Ms Morris’s lap on to her knees and held her bottom, snuffling. Dimly conscious that the couple were leaving, the next thing she knew was that Ms Morris was in front of her.
‘Get up!’ she said sharply. ‘Get up, girl. Look at this.’ Judith stood slowly and saw the damp stain that was indicated on the director’s dress. ‘Look what naughty Judy has done now. And, tell me child, what happens when Judy is naughty? Well?’ The voice was raised and Judith felt panic.
‘She – she gets spanked. Ma’am. But I’ve just been spanked and I’m so sore …’ The tears started to flow in earnest once again.
‘Stop that nonsense at once!’ Ms Morris lifted her skirts and sat down again, patting her thighs. ‘Over here. IMMEDIATELY!’
Judith jumped, heart fluttering with anxiety and obeyed. ‘Please, ma’am, I’m sorry, I can’t bear it –’ she began as soon as the smacking started, but she was cut short.
‘SILENCE! Any more of that, Judy, and I shall call Mr Jennings to come back, this time with his cane. A bad little girl like Judy would benefit from a real thrashing, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, please, I’ll be quiet.’ Desperately Judith stifled her sobs and submitted to her fate. Now the spanking hand worked at the junction of buttocks and upper thighs, and
once more Judith found herself lubricating freely. And as each blow connected with the wet, swollen lips of her cunt it was not long before she was again racked in the throes of her climax. When it was over she lay panting for the few moments granted before she was jerked roughly to her feet.
‘Come with me.’
Judith stumbled weakly after the commanding figure who led the way through two doors into a small bedroom. On a tallboy was set out a glass of milk and a round of sandwiches.
‘Stand here and eat. I shall return in five minutes.’ As the key turned in the lock behind the departing director, Judith was suddenly ravenous. When she finished there was barely time to look round at the narrow bed against the wall before the door opened again.
‘Strip and put this on.’ Ms Morris held out a short, frilly nightdress. When Judith was re-attired the woman held up an oval of thick leather whose handle was bound in twine. ‘The remedial treatment necessary in this case – which has only just begun – is beyond the capabilities of my own hand. So here is Judy’s very own instrument, which will be kept by her bed when it is not in use. In the morning, she will warm it between her thighs so that it is good and supple for the first spanking of the day. But now it is time for the last. You will see that a pouffe has been placed by the side of the bed. Kneel on it and stretch across the covers.’
The last spark of resistance gone, Judith obeyed and as she took up position the baby doll garment rode up to the small of her back, leaving her posterior completely exposed. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks and heard a little wheedling voice that could only be her own.
‘Please, ma’am, please, not too hard. Judy’s bottom hurts so much …’
‘It will be as hard as necessary to correct a naughty girl’s misbehaviour. No more, no less.’ The tone was dispassionate, without pity, and a hand explored the tenderised flesh on display. Then there were six resounding slaps, each of which wrenched an agonised shriek out of her, though she had no spirit left to take evasive action.
‘Get up and get into bed. Remember my instructions for tomorrow.’ Again the key was turned in the lock and Judith lay face down, unwilling to pull the covers over her inflamed, throbbing buttocks. Then, even as her brain tried feebly to encompass the enormity of what was happening to her, the blackness rolled up in a tidal wave and she knew no more.
BEAST
Wendy Swanscombe
About the Author
Wendy Swanscombe has published three books with Nexus – Disciplined Skin, Beast and Pale Pleasures. All of them are equally full of twistedly inventive arcane fetish fiction. Three sisters – blonde Anna, redhead Beth and raven-haired Gwen – find themselves entombed in the Schloss of Herr Abraham Bärengelt – half-mad, half-genius artist and collector obsessed by the alabaster whiteness of their skin. Whether using them as orchid-beds collecting their menstrual blood for sausage-production, the devious, consensual torments to which Bärengelt subjects the girls makes Sade look like a social worker. In this extract from Beast, the three sisters are made to find inventive sexual uses for flora …
By way of a brief glossary of terms, note that, in the following extract, the following are used:
crinny: one of the narrow patches of skin exposed by the lifting of the breasts or the folding aside of the cunt-lips.
dreckle: (of sweat) to flow down the cleavage or the buttock cleft.
gluft: the female perineum.
yelm: sexual secretions from the cunt.
HER HARNESS QUIVERED and she realised they were descending. She lifted her feet a little, glancing over at Anna and Gwen, seeing if they’d realised the best way to land. Which was simultaneously, feet touching the floor all at once, so none of them fell over. But Anna’s eyes were puffed and red, squeezed half-shut, and Gwen seemed blind with rage. At the injustice of the quiz. The way it had ended. Fuck. She watched their feet, trying to judge when best to put her own feet on the floor.
It came slowly up to meet them and she put her feet down, struggling to keep her balance as Anna and Gwen landed without co-ordination. The trildo twisted painfully in her cunt and she gasped. Fucking handcuffs. Fucking Bärengelt. Anna was about to fall over. Christ, that would wrench the fuck out of the trildo. Might give her and Gwen a hernia.
But Bärengelt was there, catching Anna by her shoulders, propping her back up.
‘Come on, Annalein. Let’s get you out.’
Snik. He’d unlocked Anna’s handcuffs, lifted them away, tossed them on the floor.
‘Now get yourself unstrapped, Annalein. Don’t make me wait. Come on.’
Now he walked over to her. Snik. He’d unlocked her handcuffs. Christ, the fucking relief. She heard them clatter on the floor too.
‘Unstrap yourself, Betchen. Come on, quick.’
She brought her hands from behind her back, rotating her wrists, rubbing at them, then began to unfasten the straps and slip out of the harness. Bärengelt’s black cane tapped at her arm of the trildo.
‘That too. Give Anna a hand when you’re finished.’
She shrugged off the last of the harness, letting it hang in the air from the ceiling, and took hold of her arm of the trildo in both hands. She pulled it away from herself, feeling it slide free stickily. Her cunt was in a right state. The head of the trildo slipped from her cunt with a faint shlop and she stepped away from it, her legs feeling shaky for a moment, knees trembling. She heard the snik of Gwen’s handcuffs being unlocked, then the clatter as they landed on the floor.
‘Unstrap yourself, Gwenchen.’
Anna was still struggling with her straps, the trildo still up her cunt. Beth moved to her, still a little unsteady, feeling the arselight wobble between the cheeks of her arse. Anna’s hands were shaking and she took hold of them soothingly, rubbing at them, rubbing at the red marks of the handcuffs on her wrists.
‘Like this, Ansie,’ she whispered.
She helped her undo the straps, slip the harness off, then uncork the trildo from her cunt. Gwen was out of her harness, tugging at her arm of the trildo, sliding it out. The head emerged between her cuntlips and fell free. Shlop. Shlop. Anna’s came out too. They let the trildo fall but it was caught in the straps of the harnesses, hanging clear of the floor, its three arms shiny with yelm.
‘Good girls. Now line up, and bend over. Over here.’
The cane pointed and they obeyed, lining up, bending over. She felt the arselight sitting solid in her arse, settled in firmly again. Anna gasped. He was pulling her arselight out. Gasped again. Groaned on a rising note that broke into a gasp and a pop. Then silence. It was out.
After a moment her arselight shifted in her arse. He had taken hold of it, was pulling it free, twisting it one way, then the other, as it came, to loosen it. Her mouth came open and she gasped silently: the pain was mounting, climbing back to what it had been as he inserted it, peaking for a moment, then suddenly shrinking to nothing. Pop. It was out.
He moved on to Gwen. No sound from her, nothing until the same faint pop, and hers was out. He walked out from behind them and stopped.
‘Straighten. Look at me.’
She straightened and looked at him. He was holding the cane in one hand, the arselights in the other, fanned out like cards. All of the bulbs were streaked with come, but one more heavily. The one that had been up her arse.
‘They’re big, aren’t they? Did you ever think you could get something that size up your arse before you came here? Anna?’
‘No, master.’
‘Gwen?’
‘No, master.’
‘Beth?’
‘No, master.’
‘Watch.’
He dropped his hand and then flicked it up, throwing the lights straight up in the air, tumbling end over end, up, up, pausing for an instant, beginning to fall … and they had gone. Just gone. She stared up where they had been.
‘Master …? Where d–’
‘Later, Betchen. Later. Much later. For now, we have some dressing to do.’
She looked down and at him. He had clothes over one arm now. Where had he got them from?
‘Knickers,’ his voices said. ‘For you, first, Anna.’
He lifted something off his arm with his other hand and flicked it to Anna. She caught it.
‘Put them on. Quick.’
She watched Anna climb into them, pull them up her slim legs. They were too small. Even for Anna. Schoolgirl’s knickers.
‘Bra.’
He tossed it to Anna, a white flutter of filmy cloth. Anna caught it, mouth twisting with dismay. It was too small too. Even for Anna.
‘Put it on.’
She watched Anna strain to fit the cups over her breasts and close the strap. Nearly. Nearly. Snik. She’d done it.
‘Shirt.’
Anna grabbed at it a moment too late and it had landed on her head and shoulders, veiling her. She tugged it off, the bra straining on her breasts as her arms and shoulders moved.
‘Quick, come on.’
This was easier, but still too small. Anna had to leave some of the buttons undone, the white silk of the shirt taut over her small, bra-constrained breasts.
‘No, all of the buttons. Do them all up.’
She struggled to obey, managing to button up the top one, the second-from-top, then as she tried to do up the third-from-top, directly over her breasts, the thread gave way and the button flew to the floor, landing with a faint click.
‘Leave it. Skirt.’
Anna caught it, folded it open and around herself. Purple wool. Too small. Absurdly short and tight. Even for Anna. The zip rasped up, jammed, and Anna struggled with it, hands beginning to tremble again. Another rasp of the zip, cut short, Anna gasping in frustration, then zzzzz, the skirt was on and fastened.
