Subculture

by Sarah Veitch

  Title Page

  SUBCULTURE

  by

  Sarah Veitch

  Publisher Information

  Subculture first published in 2000 by

  Palmprint Publications. Published in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Digital Edition converted and distributed by

  Andrews UK Limited 2011

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author of erotic fiction and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to

  hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Sarah Veitch. The right of Sarah Veitch to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter One

  Travelling by plane was only exciting on your first ever flight, Lisa mused as the Boeing 767 soared towards Malta. She smilingly accepted a mineral water from a stewardess, then opened her holdall in search of images to feed her brain. Ah, here was the photo album of Vitality, the Health Clinic she was flying towards, the plane taking her ever closer to her new job and equally new male boss.

  ‘You’ll find me a strict disciplinarian, but a fair one,’ he’d said on their second meeting in her Scarborough flat. ‘I run a tight ship.’

  That was the only cliche she’d heard him use. Other than that he’d been an unusual man, a surprising man - somewhat disconcerting. Maybe it was his obvious authority or the fact that he was in his late thirties, ten years older than herself.

  Flying out here to Malta was a wise move, Lisa thought as she flicked through the pages of the leather-bound Vitality album. She hugged herself as she studied the photos of the Clinic’s riding stables and outdoor pool. Turned at last to the back page and saw a tiny sliver of white celluloid protruding from the inside of the book’s leather cover. Curiously she tugged at it - and a glossy standard sized photo slid out. Within seconds her eyes took in the basics of the scene and she reddened and pushed the photo beneath the smooth dark leather again. Good grief! The man was spanking that woman’s naked... She quickly looked around. Then she let out her breath - no one had seen anything. Cupping a hand to one side of the book to shield it from her fellow passengers, she slid the telling photograph out again.

  The man in the snapshot was Dr Michael Landers; she recognised her new boss’s sure brown eyes, heavy black hair and slightly quizzical expression. He looked as calm and assured as he had on the two occasions that she’d met him - which was more than could be said for the twenty-something female over his lap. The girl’s palms were flat on the patio. Her dirndl skirt had been pushed up so that it covered her slender back and shoulders. Her white cotton pants were rolled down to her sunkissed thighs. The garment formed a band which seemed to further accentuate her soft young bottom. That same bottom was a fiery red.

  Lisa’s central core stilled in shock, the way it did when she thought she’d lost her purse or her keys in the city centre. Had she been meant to see this corrective image, or had someone tucked it into the back of the book to gloat over later, and somehow forgotten it was there?

  There was the usual frisson amongst the passengers as the stewardesses began to bring the lunch trays round. Surprise and shock - and, to her shame, a low rush of desire - had stolen away her appetite. Lisa hoped that the lunch bringers would take a long time to reach her chair.

  Again she studied the photograph. Why hadn’t the girl put back her hands to protect her silken hemispheres from the painful pounding? Who had voyeuristically wielded the camera, and why? What had made Michael Landers administer such chastisement? The man must see spanking as a sexual act...

  Still, the job was only for three months, Lisa reassured herself, for in three months her fiance, Reece would finish his Singaporean project and join her back in Scarborough at her currently sub-let flat.

  The word sub reminded her of the bare-bummed girl. Lisa winced in sympathy as her gaze returned to the telling picture. Her naked globes were as red as cherry tomatoes - and the fact that the camera man was watching each spank must add to her writhing humiliation and her helpless shame. More traitorous heat rushed to Lisa’s labia, and she hurriedly pushed the photo back.

  She tried to eat, then she slept. When she next opened her eyes the pilot was telling everyone that they were approaching Malta, that it was 23 degrees. 23 degrees in March. That was more than twice as warm as it had been when she’d boarded the plane back in England. She loved her native Scarborough, but was eagerly awaiting a more mellow sea and sand.

  Achille, the chauffeur, drove her to Vitality in Michael’s cream saloon car.

  ‘The Clinic,’ he exclaimed when they eventually reached its driveway.

  ‘Home for the next three months,’ Lisa said.

  As they walked towards the house a slight breeze ran through the acacia-lined circular courtyard.

  Achille grimaced. ‘For you this is warm but it is cool for us. Our flesh isn’t made for it.’

  What was her own flesh made for? For a second Lisa thought of an exposed hot bottom and her sex lips tingled. Then she reminded herself that she was faithful to Reece, was going to be his bride.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Welcome to Vitality!’ As Lisa walked through the chestnut-hued doors, Michael came striding down the hall towards her. His thick dark hair caught the Mediterranean sun and made his brown eyes look even deeper, more compelling than before.

  Again she felt the heightened awareness she’d enjoyed on both their previous talks. She tried to smile, was aware of her mouth as a sensuous region. As a region which could nuzzle, suck and kiss.

  ‘I’ve told Carmen my cook to be on standby in case you want a late lunch,’ her new boss continued, reaching for her hand and shaking it with smiling enthusiasm. ‘Though if you’d prefer to rest after your flight...?’

  ‘No, I slept on the plane, thanks.’ Slept and looked at a disciplined girl and got sexually excited. ‘Can’t wait to see round the Clinic. Want to show me the ropes?’ She winced at the unintended use of language. Were spankers also into binding and spread-eagling each others ankles and wrists?

  ‘I’d love to,’ Michael replied, letting go of her dampening hand. At five foot six Lisa was taller than the average British woman but she felt small and delicate next to his well-toned six foot frame. She didn’t feel afraid, though - just on edge, as if anything could happen. Was more aware of her small soft buttocks than she’d been for quite some time.

  She followed Michael from the lounge and walked beside him into the Patient’s Reception Room. Was shown his doctor’s surgery and the adjoining suite where she’d prescribe herbal remedies.

  ‘I feel privileged that I’m going to work here,’ she said.

  Michael put one hand on her back and turned her towards a door that led to a stairway. ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll earn your keep.’

  What the hell did that mean, Lisa asked herself. They reached the roof and she stared down at the pink and white orchids, reddish-pur
ple poppies and lemon-centred lilies. It was time to remind him of Reece.

  ‘If only my fiance could enjoy all this,’ she murmured, stretching her right hand out in a wide sweep that encompassed the flora. She watched as one of Michael’s strong hands tightened on the sun lounge balcony.

  ‘In Singapore, isn’t he?’

  Lisa steeled herself to meet his gaze. ‘He is, unfortunately.’

  ‘Let me show you to your room.’

  It had everything - including a King Size bed. ‘This big bed will be wonderful if Reece does manage to visit,’ Lisa said, reaching out to pat the pink satin spread.

  She watched as Michael’s shoulders and jawline tautened. ‘There’s really no need for these constant veiled comments about your fiance. I won’t touch you sexually unless you plead for it,’ he said. He stood up, turned. ‘I hope we’ll see you at dinner.’ Then the door clicked shut.

  Lisa sat, stunned, hearing his words replay through her sunwarmed flesh. I won’t touch you sexually unless you plead for it. Did that mean he planned to touch her in another more punitive way?

  After a shower she changed into a turquoise cotton dress and sandals. Then she walked slowly towards the ground floor and her employer’s surgery, intending to apologise.

  Michael Landers, said the silver engraved sign on the door. It was followed by five sets of initials. Lisa gulped - the man had more qualifications than most professionals twice his age. She pulled back her right hand, ready to give a steady knock. Then she tensed and swallowed as a nerve-racking swishing sound came through the door. It was immediately followed by a loud gasp and a female voice pleading ‘Sir, I’ll do better!’ Lisa turned to flee. Then stopped; she owed it to herself to find out exactly what was going on in Michael Landers pristine surgery. After all, the man was in charge of her for the next three months.

  Holding her breath, the herbalist moved nearer to the doorway and sank down upon one knee. As she did so the doctor’s voice said ‘You don’t deserve leniency. You’ve disobeyed me.’

  Lisa waited to hear another swish of what was presumably a belt. When no sound followed she put her right eye to the keyhole, half expecting to find it blocked or too narrow but found that she could see into a portion of the room.

  A woman lay across the desk, her dress-covered rump towards Lisa. If her slender waist and trim calves and ankles were typical of her age group, Lisa put her at around twenty to twenty-five. As the herbalist stared, Michael flexed a long thin cane between his hands and walked round and round the prostrate female. Then he sized the rod up with the buttocks underneath the black housedress and brought it down. The flesh beneath the housedress flinched a little then wriggled, but stayed obediently in place.

  ‘How many more, sir?’ the woman whimpered after the cane had again lashed down.

  ‘How many more for leaving the Aviary door open?’ Michael Landers murmured. ‘Well, I haven’t decided on your final punishment yet, Jamilla, but certainly more than the four you’ve had over your thick dress.’ He smiled, beginning to stroke the woman’s hips through her concealing garments, and Lisa felt a pang of shame or embarrassment go through her on the girl’s behalf.

  She looked awkwardly at the floor, then looked back again, lest she miss even a second of this unusual corporal conduct. Though she hated violence and harassment she wanted to see...

  ‘Lift your dress up, Jamilla. I’m going to deliver the next six lashes over your pretty pants,’ the doctor continued, tapping the black material with the cane.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the hapless maidservant muttered. She brought her fingers back slowly and edged up the plain linen dress.

  Her briefs were of the whitest cotton. They moulded perfectly to her small yet plump bottom cheeks. As Lisa stared, Michael tugged Jamilla’s waistband further up her back so that the material tightened more firmly against her hindquarters. Now the area to be caned was even more cruelly outlined, if not yet fully exposed.

  ‘Just keep lying like that. There’s a good girl,’ Michael Landers said conversationally and the bottom in question trembled. Lisa stared daggers at his back, and decided he was a patronising bastard. If he ever spoke to her like that she’d probably take the cane to him herself.

  But Jamilla presumably came from a different culture - a subservient culture. Why else would she be lying across the desk so meekly whilst this tyrant thrashed the soft full target of her arse? The herbalist stared through the keyhole as her employer stood back from the waiting girl and took aim with the cane again. Brought it down sharply over her cotton-clad cheeks.

  ‘Aaah!’ Jamilla’s hands came back and rubbed quickly at each punished hemisphere, then she just as quickly returned them to the front of the wide wood desk.

  ‘Now Jamilla, you know you don’t get to soothe your tender bottom,’ Michael Landers said evenly. ‘I’m the one who applies the cold cream to those burning globes at the very end.’

  ‘I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’ The maid’s voice was low and very much out of breath, could even have been confused for lust-crazed. ‘But I usually only get chastened with your hand or with the wooden spoon.’

  ‘Oh, I know what you usually get,’ her boss added matter of factly. ‘It’s all written up in the Punishment Book.’

  Christ, the dictator kept a punishment book. This definitely wasn’t some boyfriend/girlfriend erotic fling, then. This man actually chastised his staff for day to day misdemeanours, Lisa thought dazedly.

  Now Jamilla’s misdemeanours had earned her a sore hot arse. She still had another five strokes to go over her knickers. Lisa didn’t want to think about what would happen after that.

  ‘I think we’ll lay the next stroke lower down,’ the doctor continued, ‘you know, above your plump little thighs.’ Those same thighs quivered. So did the underswell of the bottom which was about to be thrashed. Lisa wondered what the girl was feeling and thinking about. She must be trying to decide which angle the cane would come from, trying to protect her extremities by pushing her belly against the desk.

  ‘A feverish stroke for all the finches you let escape,’ Michael said, lining up the rod and applying it smartly to the pantied buttocks. Jamilla groaned and winced visibly as the punisher made swishy contact above her thighs.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ she whispered hoarsely in broken English. ‘No more. Please.’

  ‘Sorry that you didn’t listen to me week after week when I warned you to check on the wire mesh enclosing the birds, Jamilla? Told you to arrange an alarm system that would trigger if the Aviary door wasn’t fully closed?’

  ‘I know, sir. I was busy, sir,’ the maidservant whimpered. Her bottom writhed.

  ‘And now I’m busy teaching you a short sore lesson,’ Michael Landers replied. He brought the cane down across the centre of her cheeks, then gave her two full minutes to recover. When she’d stopped the worst of her quivering he brought the rod smartly into contact with her fleshy underhang. Then he enlivened the area immediately above it. ‘One to go with your panties on. Now where shall I put it? Ah, just here where I’ve been neglecting your sorry flesh.’

  Jamilla groaned, the groan turning into a wail as he applied the rod again.

  Lisa shifted her stance then held her breath. Michael set the cane on the desk then returned to his stance behind Jamilla. ‘Time to pull your protective panties down.’

  ‘I’m so striped already...’ the girl whined.

  ‘Why do you always make a fuss this early on, Jamilla? You know that it won’t reprieve you,’ said the former surgeon in a languid tone.

  ‘Couldn’t I just...?’

  ‘You can ask nicely for at least six lashes on the bare.’

  ‘And after that...?’ The girl lifted her head and twisted it back to look at him shyly.

  ‘After that we’ll rub the cold cream wherever your hot little pussy desires.’

  The girl flushed, th
en looked away and let her head hang back down. Her bare thighs tautened. Lisa flushed in sympathy.

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ Jamilla whispered, then reached back and pushed her white cotton panties out of the way. They bunched round her upper legs, accentuating the posterior above them. A posterior that was to again taste the merciless cane.

  Lisa looked curiously at the marks the rod had left. The housedress and knickers had obviously given the cheeks some shielding for they were pink rather than scarlet. The parallel stripes looked vaguely fuzzy rather than clearly defined. Not that that helped matters any, the English girl thought, as her boss picked up the cane and got ready to use it on the Maltese servant. The doctor shouldn’t be treating his staff like virtual slaves. She’d report him to the authorities for cruelty as soon as this session was over. She’d get him struck off every medical register in the land. Lisa moved her own hot limbs around as she tried to get comfortable in the suddenly airless corridor. She’d just force herself to watch to the end to gather as much evidence as she could.

  The twenty-eight year old pressed her eye more firmly to the keyhole. The former surgeon was now stroking the servant’s newly-bared flesh as if preparing it for sacrifice. ‘Please,’ Jamilla whispered. She was writhing. ‘Oh please!’ She must be begging for mercy, Lisa thought confusedly. Her voice must be cracking with a fear that sounded similar to desire.

  ‘Just another six, angel, then you can have your release,’ the medical man said coolly. He retrieved the cane from the desk and stood back, then took aim to one side of the Maltese maid’s plump backside. For a moment he seemed to feast his eyes on her tremulous hindquarters, then he brought the rod down sharply to create a new red line.

  Jamilla cried out and drummed first one foot then the other against the thick rug, as if she was tap dancing. Lisa waited for her to jump up, to flee.