Spankers Justice

by Aishling Morgan

  SPANKER’S JUSTICE

  A collection of five erotic spanking stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2011

  ISBN 9781908086396

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010

  These stories have also been published in

  Ultimate Spanking ISBN 9781907016127

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:

  Erotic Fiction Publisher 2010

  "Xcite has delighted its readers with a wealth of superb titles and first class storytelling. Their titles have far outstripped the others for both quality of the product and sensual erotic content."

  Contents

  Spanker's Justice Aishling Morgan

  From Wanting to Wanton Laurel Aspen

  Butt in a Sling Landon Dixon

  Spanked by my own Step-daughter Teresa Joseph

  Hot Enough for June Philip Kemp

  Spanker’s Justice

  by Aishling Morgan

  Olivia Fielding risked a glance to one side. Five young ladies stood to attention, each in her neat khaki uniform, the peaks of their caps and the points of their polished black shoes making two straight lines towards a blank magnolia-painted wall. Slightly to one side a window opened onto the straight paths and green-painted Nissan huts of Rushmoor Camp. The sky was clear, with a light breeze making the flag flutter and sending golden brown leaves tumbling along the ground. Olivia knew what had to be done, but found herself wishing that she was outside instead of lined up with her fellow ATS educational officers.

  She didn’t feel like an officer, but very small and very guilty like a suspect; the others looked as if they felt the same.

  Each girl, blonde or brunette, had her hair bound up into a tight bun beneath her service cap and her eyes fixed at a point in space just above the head of the single, very different woman who faced them. This was Senior Commander Buchanan, whose harsh features and elongated, bony body had earned her the nickname of “the Hatchet”. The name also suited her character, and her voice, which was both hard and sharp.

  ‘Your purpose in being here,’ she was saying, ‘is to make up for those regrettable shortcomings in basic education that are so common among our troops, notably those conscripted and now ready for demobilization. Reading, writing and arithmetic, Ladies, not going to the cinema, not visiting public houses and most definitely not this.’

  She stopped abruptly, and as she did so she pushed at an object on her desk, not with her finger but with a pen. The object was a small, square box of thin cardboard, once red and white, now smeared with mud but not so dirty that Olivia was unable to read the legend printed in bold, flowing letters “Lucky Dips” and below that two words that explained Major Buchanan’s disgust, “Prophylactic Condoms”.

  ‘American,’ the Hatchet continued, as if that in itself were enough to condemn whoever had brought the packet onto the base. ‘An empty packet. Originally it contained three items, which would seem to imply that one of you, or just possibly more, has … eyes front, Subaltern Fielding!’

  Olivia snapped back to full attention, the blood rushing to her face in a hot flush that spread slowly down to her chest and belly, leaving her stomach in a tight knot and her fingers trembling. There were rumours about Senior Commander Buchanan, nasty rumours. Two girls had been transferred abroad, suddenly and without explanation; both Chief Volunteers and both exceptionally pretty. Then there had been Susan Pirbright, a Volunteer from Cheltenham so shy she barely seemed able to lift her eyes from the ground, also very pretty, with exceptionally long legs and a bottom as round as a ball. Susan had been hauled up in front of the Senior Commander for no apparent reason, and she’d been very reluctant to make use of the bathhouse that evening too. But when ordered, in no uncertain terms, to get stripped off, she’d revealed rear cheeks with a distinctly pink flush. Later, Olivia had spoken to Susan.

  ‘… gross irresponsibility from persons who should be setting an example,’ the Hatchet was saying. ‘Whoever is responsible will therefore step forward, this moment.’

  The knot in Olivia’s stomach tightened. Dizzy, her heart pounding and her cheeks burning, hardly knowing what she was doing, she took a step to the front. The girl to her left gave a faint gasp; maybe from shock but maybe from amusement. Then there was silence. Olivia stood stock still, her gaze fixed firmly to the front, but already hazy with the tears gathering in her eyes. She knew what the other girls were thinking, their disbelief compounded with disgust, but perhaps there was also a little envy and certainly a secret delight in Olivia’s downfall. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the reaction of Senior Commander Buchanan, who made no effort to conceal the doubt in her voice as she went on.

  ‘You, Subaltern Fielding?’

  Olivia managed to speak. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The sound of her own voice, so weak, so pathetic, released the first of the heavy tears that had been building in the corners of her eyes. She blinked, desperate to conceal the fact that she was crying. But it did no good, merely nudging a second tear free so that two moist streaks decorated her cheeks as the sharp voice continued.

  ‘I am astonished. Very well, the rest of you may leave.’

  The other girls filed out. Olivia stood rigidly to attention, trying desperately not to snivel, but the tears now rolled freely down her cheeks. Even as the door closed behind the last of the girls, Senior Commander Buchanan began to speak once more. ‘Yes, I am astonished. In fact, amazed might be the more suitable word. And yet they do say it’s often the quiet ones. So, what is to be done with you?’

  She stopped, her hand moving to the point of her chin as she regarded Olivia, who had given up trying not to cry. Her make-up now ran in black lines down her face, and her nose wrinkled as she struggled to avoid adding the shame of a snotty nose to her already agonised feelings. It was getting hard to breathe as well, her chest heaving and her uniform suddenly tight across her breasts, while for some hideously embarrassing reason her nipples had begun to grow stiff. The Hatchet sat back, making a steeple of her fingers as she carried on.

  ‘A large fine? Pointless. Your dear daddy would simply pay. Demotion? Why bother, when you’ll be demobbed in a few months anyway. A spell in the glasshouse? I dare say that would teach you a lesson, but still … perhaps we should just shave your head? I believe that’s traditional for little sluts who can’t keep their drawers up for five minutes at a time.’

  The Hatchet smiled, as if she had made a joke. Olivia found her mouth twitching into a smile, a smile forced by the Senior Commander’s strength of will and her own inability to resist. Again there was a pause and Olivia found herself imagining how it would be to have her head shaved. It would be public, outdoors, with a ring of grinning squaddies and sneering girls watching her. They’d probably have a couple of beefy corporals to hold her in case she struggled. But she wouldn’t. She’d sit in meek acceptance of her fate, as the barber scraped away the pretty blonde curls she’d been so proud of all her life, leaving her as bald as an egg, her disgrace on show to the world. Senior Commander Buchanan was still smiling, but her hawk face now expressed more cruelty than amusement, as if she were able to read Olivia’s mind. She nodded.

  ‘Yes. That would be suitable, but pe
rhaps there is another way, an unofficial way. Perhaps, Subaltern Fielding … Olivia, we should take into account the fact of your behaviour and punish you accordingly. Do you think it suitable for an officer in the Auxiliary Territorial Service to be consorting with other ranks in such a disgusting fashion?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Olivia managed, her voice a barely audible croak.

  The Hatchet lifted her chin a trifle. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Olivia repeated as the hot tears once more began to course down her cheeks.

  ‘No,’ the Hatchet echoed. ‘It is not suitable behaviour for an officer, nor for a young lady, especially a young lady of such high birth. Indeed, I believe you are, technically, Lady Olivia Fielding?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, you are, aren’t you? You are the daughter of an earl. An earl who also happens to hold a post in His Majesty’s Government. And what do you think the Earl will say when he learns about your behaviour?’

  Olivia had gone cold inside, and although her mouth opened, no words came out; the thought of her father being told about the incident was simply too much to bear. The Senior Commander’s smirk grew broader, and crueller.

  ‘I imagine he will be very cross indeed,’ she went on, ‘very, very cross. Perhaps, when you’re sent home in disgrace, he’ll put you across his knee and smack your naughty bottom?’

  Olivia went scarlet; a blush so hot it covered not only her face but her neck and chest, making her now painfully stiff nipples prickle with sweat. The Hatchet saw and gave a brief, harsh chuckle, then continued.

  ‘Yes, I think he might very well do that, Olivia. He might very well put you across his knee and smack your naughty bottom. Spank you, Olivia, that’s what he’d do, like the little brat you are. In fact, given the way you have behaved, and that you have forfeited any right to be treated like a lady, I imagine that he might even roll up your skirt and slip before he spanked you. Maybe he’d even take down your drawers and spank your bare bottom. How would you like that, Olivia? How would you like your bare bottom spanked?’

  Quite unable to speak, Olivia gave a frantic shake of her head. Every single word had been spoken slowly and with obvious relish, leaving no doubt at all of the Senior Commander’s intention, and the implication of her final question. It wasn’t her father’s knee Olivia would be going over, and it wasn’t her father who would be spanking her bare bottom. The Hatchet spoke again.

  ‘Yes, I think we understand each other. Put the blinds down, Olivia, and lock the door.’

  Olivia obeyed, mechanically doing as she was told despite her raging emotions. With the door locked she clipped the heavy blackout blinds into place, save for the last two fastenings, leaving the room full of a dim golden light. As she worked, Senior Commander Buchanan had pushed back her chair, leaving her positioned well back from the desk, with her long, bony legs making a lap. Olivia swallowed hard as she came back to attention in front of the desk. Nothing more needed to be said. She was going to be spanked, and she was going to be spanked bare bottom; just as Susan Pirbright had been spanked, in that same office, and also bare bottom.

  ‘Very good,’ the Hatchet remarked. ‘What an obedient girl you are. I wonder, did your boyfriend simply tell you to pop your knickers off and spread your legs? No, at the very least he’d have had those fat titties out of your blouse. Yes, I imagine he would have done.’

  Olivia gave a single, feeble nod.

  ‘I see. And did he have you strip, or was this sordid liaison outdoors? More a case of titties out, skirt up and knickers down, I imagine? Perhaps he even had you from behind? Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? You pressed up against a wall, I suppose, with your bottom stuck out and his hands all over those fat titties while he had you? You’re a disgrace to the uniform, Fielding. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

  All Olivia could manage in response was yet another weak nod. It was true, her shame burning in her head for what she’d already done, but far more for what was about to happen to her. The reference to her breasts had struck home too. She had always struggled between embarrassment and pride for their size. While it was impossible not to feel secretly pleased by the envy of other girls, being so busty was extremely awkward at times; no matter how she dressed everybody’s attention seemed to go straight to her chest. That included Senior Commander Buchanan, who was now admiring the twin bulges that strained out the front of Olivia’s uniform jacket.

  ‘Undo your jacket.’

  It was an order. Olivia felt a fresh blush start to creep up her face, making her cheeks grow hot, and hotter still as she realised that Senior Commander wasn’t going to be content with dishing out a bare bottom spanking, appalling though that was. Olivia was to be humiliated first, in ways that were quite unnecessary for her to be effectively punished.

  With trembling fingers Olivia unfastened the buttons of her uniform jacket, allowing it to open across her chest. As she came back to attention the sides opened further still, just far enough to expose the twin bumps where her erect nipples pushed out the material of her blouse. Senior Commander Buchanan gave a knowing chuckle.

  ‘Now your blouse.’

  Olivia obeyed, unable to stop herself but barely able to fumble open the first and highest of her buttons. Her tie got in the way and she was forced to loosen the knot before the button would come loose. The Hatchet watched, patient, amused, her eyes flicking across Olivia’s chest. Button after button popped open to reveal first smooth, pale flesh and then the cotton lace trim of Olivia’s brassiere. Two more buttons and her blouse was wide open, her breasts cupped in white, feeling impossible large and prominent, each straining nipple an added embarrassment. Two more and the top of her girdle was showing, along with a slice of soft, pink tummy flesh and her belly button. For the last two she had to tug her blouse out of her skirt, leaving her feeling scruffy and intensely vulnerable. She closed her eyes, wondering if the display she was making of herself would be sufficient to satisfy Senior Commander Buchanan’s cruel lust, but very sure it wouldn’t. Sure enough, the next command was exactly what she’d been expecting.

  ‘Now your brassiere.’

  Olivia’s hand went to the catch immediately. A moment wrestling with the taught elastic and one obstinate hook among the four and she felt the weight of her breasts loll forward in her brassiere, giving her an acute pang of shame for their size and weight. Wishing earnestly that she was even a little bit smaller, she took hold of the undersides of the cups and tugged them up, spilling out her breasts, plump and pink and bare, her nipples pointing ever so slightly skywards. She knew she made a ridiculous sight, with the two fat globes sticking out with her tie hanging down between them, all framed in dishevelled cloth, and yet she also knew that compared with what was about to happen to her the exposure of her breasts was a only a minor indignity.

  She was left for a full minute, standing to attention with her naked breasts thrust out. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but she could clearly see the clock on the wall above the Senior Commander’s desk. Each second seemed to last an eternity, with her feelings building to a peak so strong that she came to the edge of breaking before the order she expected finally came.

  ‘That will do, I think. Now come over my knee.’

  Again Olivia obeyed without hesitation, walking around the desk and draping herself into that awful stance, across another woman’s lap: her hands and feet braced on the ground, head down and bottom up, spanking position. That was bad enough, but to have her breasts dangling heavy and naked under her chest added a whole new dimension to her shame. Yet a faint doubt remained in her head, that she would be spanked on the seat of her uniform skirt, at least to begin with. Senior Commander Buchan’s hands went straight to the hem, tugging it up past Olivia’s knees as she spoke once more.

  ‘Let’s have this up then, shall we? Lift your body.’

  Olivia went up on her toes, her eyes tight shut as her skirt was hauled unceremoniously up her thighs and over her bottom. Her slip
came with it, exposing the broad white seat of her knickers; big, comfortable, modest knickers that encased the whole of her bottom and sported no more than a half-inch wide trim of the same cotton lace that decorated her brassiere for vanity. The Hatchet took hold of the waistband immediately and Olivia braced herself for the final indignity of having her knickers pulled down and her bottom laid bare. Only for the motion to stop. She was held, the waistband of her knickers lifted and just a little way down, exposing the gentle V at the top of her bottom crease but no more.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ said the Senior Commander, ‘Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up for her spanking?

  There was no mistaking the taunting tone of the Hatchet’s voice. Olivia made a face, reluctant to play the humiliating game because she knew full well that whatever she said her knickers would come down in the end. Not to answer would certainly mean a harder, longer spanking to punish her defiance, yet she bit her lip, determined not to speak until the harsh voice came again.

  ‘Well, would Miss Olivia like to keep her knickers up for her spanking? Would she? Answer me!’

  Olivia broke, unable to resist the tone of command in her tormentor’s voice. ‘Yes!’

  The Hatchet seemed to be struggling not to laugh as she went on. ‘Is that yes, Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up for her spanking because she’s embarrassed to show her bare bottom? Or is that yes, Miss Olivia would like her knickers pulled down because she knows she doesn’t deserve to keep them up and ought to be spanked bare bottom?’

  ‘Knickers up, please, ma’am,’ Olivia sobbed.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I … I’d like to keep my knickers up, please, ma’am!’

  ‘I beg your pardon? Repeat what I said, Olivia, and I might just be merciful.’

  ‘I … I mean, Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up, please, Ma’am!’