Adèle fingered the thick cock; it immediately squirted her bare bottom with a hot splash of milky semen. Bobby Kensington grunted thickly; the shuddering maid squealed.
Swish. Lady Carstairs sliced her bamboo down, searing the already punished cheeks with fresh torment.
‘Wretched man. Nearly ruined my Belgian sofa.’
Adèle, sticky-fingered, dragged the spent cock to her buttocks as the canes whistled down. She rubbed the hot snout rhythmically against her wet cheeks, coaxing it back into stiffness. The canes whipped down. Bobby Kensington cried out in anguish. Adèle guided the slippery erection in between her parted buttocks and, contracting her anal muscles, absorbed almost half its length. Speared by the whipped crooner’s shaft, and pinned into the sofa by his dead weight, she squirmed happily as the bamboo continued to bite.
‘We’ll have a song, I think,’ Lady Carstairs opined, pausing for a breather. ‘Any requests?’
‘Red Sails In The Sunset,’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth grunted, levelling her cane down dominantly across the punished buttocks.
They forced him to croon. He faltered. The bamboo rain fell heavily. He managed to perform, the ragged notes snatched from his trembling lips.
Adèle squealed again as, driven by the searing cane strokes, Bobby Kensington jerked then plunged deeply into her tight heat. Swish, swipe. Swish, swipe.
‘Come along, Mr Kensington,’ Lady Carstairs cried, plying her cane viciously yet again. ‘Let’s hear you hit the high notes.’
Both canes sliced down. Bobby Kensington screamed – but it was Adèle who hit high C first: crying out her shrill delight as the whistling bamboo drove the crooner ever deeper between her clenched cheeks.
11
Double Yellow
Jackie shivered as she stood in her white cotton panties before the full-length mirror. The door to the changing room opened. Jackie’s arms flew across her bosom, squashing the full, round breasts as she swiftly sought to cover their swollen splendour. A woman’s voice told her to relax.
‘Blokes get changed next door, love. You one of the new lot?’
Jackie, grinning, dropped her hands down to her thighs and nodded.
‘Look slippy. Better get into that uniform or else the Captain will be signing up another member for her Double Yellow club.’
Jackie frowned. That was the third time she had heard this club mentioned. Once, just after her interview at City Hall, once in training and again – in whispered giggles – in the staff canteen.
‘Catch you later, love.’ The other Car Cadet, pert in her trim uniform, shouldered her leather bag and, snatching up her black gloves, left the changing room.
Back in the full-length glass, Jackie studied her reflection. Weighing her breasts in her upturned palms, she slowly cupped their soft warmth and squeezed, pleased with their ripe curves, smooth satin sheen and deep, dark cleavage. Selecting a white cotton sports bra, she drew the cool cups to her swollen breasts and slipped it on, shuddering with pleasure as her bosom surrendered to the firm embrace. As she thumbed the straps at each shoulder, her breasts rose, bulging beautifully. Already, her nipples were thickening as they nuzzled the stretchy cotton cups.
Next, the pale blue blouse. She wriggled into it quickly but fastened it slowly, button by button, from her belly up to her throat. She relished the soft fabric kissing her flesh, and was proud of the pert thrust of her brassiered breasts now passive in their disciplined bondage.
The little dark blue bow-tie was a cheat. She only had to clip it on then finger the butterfly wings into place against her collar. She glanced into the mirror. The effect was thrilling. The crisp uniform flattered her soft curves, adding a hint of stern authority to her pretty face and girlish figure. Like a sixth-form prefect. One who patrolled the dorm after lights out, slipper gripped in her right hand, ready to punish the bare bottom of any naughty school girl caught breaking the strict rules.
Five weeks ago, Jackie was a meter maid, part of the traffic warden patrol. Then City Hall had called the consultants in, leading to out-sourcing. Privatisation, they said in the staff canteen. Jobs on the line. Jackie got an interview and a job. With it came new contracts and a new uniform. And new duties. No longer a meter maid, Jackie became a Car Cadet. City Hall’s new strategy. Gone was her job-for-life with its dull blue serge trouser suit, stupid hat and sensible, ugly shoes. Now she enjoyed monthly targets to meet, renewable contract options – but a delicious uniform.
Jackie grinned. Even sixth-form prefects wore a skirt. She stared down at her naked thighs, and at the pantied pubic mound peeping out between the flaps of her blouse. Reaching out, she plucked her skirt down from its hanger. The pleated mini-skirt fell just below the swell of her thighs. Just like the sixth-form prefect ready for netball. Jackie fingered the narrow pleats. The mini-skirt flared when she twirled, revealing her tightly pantied bottom. Just like the pleated skirts on the school girls prancing at netball. She giggled. She’d have to be extra careful out there, when bending down to speak to drivers behind their wheel – or she’d cause more than a few shunts from excited drivers coming up behind.
And no stupid hat. Great. A blue beret. She tilted it then pulled it down on to her chic black curls. No lipstick or eye make-up. That was made plain in training. The captain had been very firm. Gloves. She had chosen the pale blue kid leather over the black. So soft, deliciously soft. She drove her fingers home into the tight warmth and then wriggled them, before clenching both hands into squeezed fists. A warm bubble silvered and burst at the white cotton stretched across her pussy. Leather always did something for Jackie. She used to go clubbing wearing black leather panties – scampering to the loo after a couple of hours to pluck their soiled warmth from her tingling labia and finger out the sleek hide from her aching cleft.
‘Two minutes.’ The door opened suddenly and a voice called out warningly. ‘Hurry up.’
She did. Her first day as a Car Cadet. She mustn’t be late for parade and inspection. Her training was complete; her uniform fitted perfectly, displaying her trim figure and lithe legs to their fullest effect. Legs. Jackie squealed. The hem of her pleated mini-skirt tickled the backs of her thighs as she raised each leg up in turn, wobbling unsteadily, for her socks and shoes. White ankle socks and neat little black shoes were donned in seconds. A final glance in the mirror. Yes. She was ready. But she’d have to remember how dangerously short her mini-skirt was. Wouldn’t do to cause an accident on her first day.
The six new Car Cadets formed a ragged, slightly selfconscious line as they presented themselves on parade for inspection. Jackie mentally checked: note book; pens; leather shoulder bag and canvas holster. Gloves, beret and ID. All present and correct. She gasped softly as the captain, a stern, closely cropped blonde, fifteen years older than her own twenty, strode into the operations room. Instead of her customary track suit, the captain was wearing black, shiny biker’s leathers.
‘Attention.’
The line of uniformed young females smartened at once, buttocks tightened, thighs firmly clamped together.
‘Come along, come along, heads up, arms straight, palms inwards against the thighs. You know how I want you, girls.’
The staccato of crisp commands brought the quivering girls into closer order. The captain, her leather creaking softly as she paced up and down before her squad, surveyed them intently.
‘Not bad. At ease.’
Jackie breathed out. She kept her head still, but her eyes followed the black-leathered blonde as she prowled back down along the line. Sharp commands accompanied the blonde’s progress. Breaking through the line, the captain inspected the girls from behind. Jackie flinched slightly as she felt the stern presence immediately behind her – and flinched again as strong fingers clutched at the hem of her pleated mini-skirt, tugging it firmly down.
‘Too short, girl. Get measured for another when stores open again on Friday. Understand?’
Jackie nodded, blushing. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’ th
e cropped blonde snapped.
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘That’s better. You are all in my crew now. Under my authority. And I intend to run the best crew City Hall has ever seen. Understood?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ they chorused.
The stern blonde’s breath was warm on the nape of Jackie’s neck. The fingers at her hem released the pleated mini-skirt and fleetingly clenched into a firm fist. Jackie squirmed as she felt the knuckles dimple the swell of her left buttock, grazing the bare flesh just beneath the bite of her white cotton panties. The knuckles kissed her exposed cheek briefly, but the sensation set Jackie’s pulse racing for several minutes. Her nostrils flared slightly as they caught the feral whiff of the shiny black leathers. Giddy, Jackie stumbled forwards slightly. Firm hands gripped her waist and drew her neatly back into line.
‘I see I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you, my girl.’
For the second time in twelve minutes, Jackie’s wet pussy glistened with a bubble of arousal, leaving her panties sticky at her pouting lips.
‘I’ll be ready for you Friday, girl. Get those thighs covered. Or else.’ The concluding words were emphasised with a dominant tap of the captain’s fingertip against her soft upper thigh-flesh. Jackie automatically clenched her buttocks together, squeezing her cheeks until her cleft became a thin, painfully tight crease.
‘As the newly formed squad of Car Cadets,’ the captain announced, ‘you serve one purpose and one purpose only. Revenue. City Hall thinks that by setting up the squad, enough revenue can be made to finance a decent traffic scheme. Pedestrianisation. Park-and-ride. There is even talk of a metro-tram link. Who knows. But revenue is required. You’re not out there to direct traffic or give directions. Just radio in the number plate of anyone double-parked, unloading or in a bus lane. Control here will do the rest. But they can’t send out the ticket without the correct number plate. So no mistakes. Do not disappoint City Hall. Or me.’
Jackie’s fingertips ached to pluck the damp panties from her slit. The hem of her pleated mini-skirt rippled as she brushed it. The movement caught the sharp eyes of the leathered blonde. The eyes narrowed dangerously. Jackie gulped and, head tossed back, drew herself smartly to attention.
‘As your captain, I will be supervising you as you cover your beat. Forget the residential areas, moaning mothers on the school run. We’re hitting the commercial zones. Targeting money. And we’re going to hit them hard. What are we going to do?’
‘Hit them hard, Captain.’
Out on patrol, on a beat stretching from the edge of the open-air market to the factories and small businesses adjoining the railway station, Jackie was surprised at the irksome weight of the radio in her canvas shoulder holster. In training, they had received operating instructions on how to use it, sharing one between the entire squad. Out on the beat, its weight was a drag. Jackie pulled it out and buried it in her shoulder bag. Much better. And her jacket fell smoothly down over the line of her proud bosom.
Turning into Archer Street, she saw that a line of traffic was being held up by a double-parked Sherpa van: back doors open, boxes busily being unloaded. Quickening her pace, Jackie approached. The driver spotted her, slapped the side of his van and jumped in behind the wheel. Jackie’s fingers touched her empty holster. Damn. Struggling with gloved hands to unzip her shoulder bag, she swore softly as she heard the engine revving. The back doors were slammed shut and thumped just as she fished out her radio. She brought it up to her mouth, but only managed another soft curse. The Sherpa was now a white blur down at the junction with Station Road.
The congealed traffic loosened and crawled away. Jackie heard the snarl of an approaching motorbike.
‘I saw that. Bloody little fool. Keep that radio where it’s supposed to be.’
It was the stern blonde captain. Behind her tinted visor, her eyes flashed angrily. Jackie mumbled an apology. It was instantly spurned.
‘That was a twenty-quid penalty in the bag and you let it go. Don’t ever let me see that happen again, girl.’
Stamping down on the kick-start, the captain roared off, nosing her gleaming bike down Archer Street, her tightly sheathed buttocks bulging on the leather saddle.
Back in the canteen, word of Jackie’s ‘miss’ had spread. Over beans on toast, they teased her.
‘New recruit for the Double Yellow club.’
‘She’ll be a fully paid-up member soon. No danger.’
Jackie accepted their teasing and ate her lunch. Again, the mention of the Double Yellow club. Puzzled, she peppered her beans.
Two of the squad were peeling back the foil from their yoghurts.
‘Captain about?’ asked the raspberry yoghurt, dipping her spoon.
‘Gone to City Hall,’ replied the hazlenut and chocolate chip.
‘Good,’ came the response through a full, pink mouthful.
The two girls finished off their yoghurts and furtively showed each other their ‘perks’, one proudly revealing a box of peppermint creams and the other flashing two complimentary cinema tickets. A third Car Cadet, cottoning on, displayed a gleaming CD.
Jackie’s puzzled look made them laugh.
‘Not many “perks” on your lousy beat,’ they commiserated.
Those Car Cadets who patrolled the smarter streets of the shopping sector were, Jackie discovered, rewarded with small presents for turning a blind eye to a bit of illegal delivery-parking. Just a couple of minutes, darling. Go on. A smile. The helpless shrug and the gesture of outstretched arms. Then a little sweetener for the obliging Car Cadet. That’s how it was done.
Finishing her tea, Jackie thought about the grim streets she patrolled. Small, struggling workshops. Mean little outfits being squeezed hard enough by VAT and punitive rates. Not many opportunities for ‘perks’ there.
A fortnight later, her pleated mini-skirt an inch longer and her radio bulging beneath her jacket, Jackie was on patrol in Cooper Street. She paused outside two large green gates. No signs or name plates. Everything done over a mobile phone, Jackie presumed. No paperwork. Cash only. Jackie was learning fast. Beyond the green gates, in the shabby unit, cutting and sewing machines clattered loudly. A back-street sweatshop.
A Ford Transit squealed to a stop. A delivery. The gates opened and three youths emerged to manhandle the bolts of satin and raw silk inside to feed the machinists. The driver of the van winked at Jackie.
‘Panties, or would you like a bra?’
She blushed, but withdrew her hand from inside her jacket, leaving the radio nestling in its canvas holder.
‘Well, darling?’ he grinned. ‘Bra?’
Jackie nodded.
‘Bra it is, then.’ He gazed at her shrewdly, his large brown eyes feasting on her breasts.
Jackie squirmed.
‘You’ll be a 36.’
Jackie giggled and nodded. ‘Cheeky bugger.’
He strode over to where she was standing by the green gates.
‘Let’s see,’ he said, his voice warm and confident. He briefly placed his large hands on her breasts, squeezing them gently. Jackie noticed the missing thumb. She shrank back a pace.
‘36C,’ he laughed.
Her eyes widened with wonder. She was exactly that. 36C.
‘Used to be a machinist,’ he said over his shoulder as he walked back towards the cab of his van, ‘before I lost this.’ He jerked up his thumbless hand. ‘Blue satin do you? Half cups, but you don’t need any padding.’
That was how it had started. Emboldened, Jackie began to seek out and accept cash. The mini-cab drivers coughed up readily enough, happy to slip the Car Cadet a folded fiver in return for her blind eye. Jackie wasn’t greedy – and whenever she heard the snarl of the approaching motorbike, she whipped her radio out and did her duty. Everyone was satisfied. Within a month, Jackie had her beat sorted.
The captain studied the projected figures against the actual returns. Almost thirty per cent down. City Hall had been on the phone, chasing her for an e
xplanation. She checked the figures again and then studied the detail rota. Her fingers slid easily down the laminated chart, coming to rest – then tapping – Jackie’s name. The captain frowned.
During the inspection parade the following morning, the captain ordered her squad to open their shoulder bags for examination.
‘No purses, credit cards or cheque books allowed on patrol,’ she instructed. ‘I don’t want to catch anyone shopping in my time, understood?’
Grumbling under their breath, the Car Cadets obediently put all their belongings back into their lockers.
‘Can you break a twenty? Two tens or fivers will do,’ the captain asked Jackie casually.
‘Sorry.’ Jackie shrugged, opening her purse and offering it up for inspection. ‘No can do.’
The captain glanced down, counted the eight pounds, and smiled. ‘Never mind. I just wondered if you could.’
That evening, Jackie undressed in the changing room and slipped into a cubicle, drawing the opaque plastic curtain across behind her. Her shower was lukewarm at first. She shivered, naked and impatient, waiting for the water to warm. She soaped her shoulders and breasts as the stinging sluice grew hot, filling her narrow cubicle with swirling steam. Soon the opaque plastic curtain was sweating. Crushing her breasts firmly beneath her flattened palms, she relished the shower, feeling the tiredness of her aching legs drain away with the suds at her feet.
Offering her throat and breasts up to the drumming cascade, she thrilled as it raked her nipples, bringing them up into stiff little peaks of delicious torment. Her left knee twisted inwards against her right leg as she squirmed pleasurably. Her fingers found her pussy and slowly, effortlessly prised the thick lips apart. Curds of foam slithered down her belly and spine as she tensed, planting her shining feet apart. Fingering herself rhythmically, she concentrated on the images darting behind her tightly shut eyes.
The smiling, confident Transit van driver who cupped her breasts to guestimate her bra size. He still did it, even though he had got it spot on the first time. And yesterday, when she had opted for a pair of briefs, fondling her bottom firmly for the silk panties. The mini-cab drivers, grinning as they popped folded fivers into her cleavage, the tightly rolled blue note probing down between her soft, warm breasts.
Brought to Heel Page 24
