Reformed Characters

by Sarah Veitch

  'Couldn't I just write out lines or something?' Brian said. He'd aimed for a joke but his voice sounded much higher than normal.

  'The only lines I want to see are red parallel stripes,' the stage manager replied.

  Compliantly, Brian fetched the size nine black shoe and put it on his head and tilted this way and that till he achieved a balance. Then he positioned his hands as he'd been told.

  'Is this a long show or a short show?' he asked, again striving for - but failing to inject - a note of levity.

  'That's entirely up to you, young Brian. When you've had enough of this deportment exercise it will be time for you to ask nicely for the cane.' Looking closer, Brian could see that she'd brought it with her. He stared hard at its pitiless length.

  Even a strong young man can't keep his arms raised for very long. Within seconds his shoulders began to ache and he swayed ever so slightly. Worse, the plimsoll started to feel strangely heavy and he feared that it would slide down his silken hair. Still he tried to hold the pose in order to impress her. He so wanted to make up for having drunk that illicit vodka earlier on. He risked a shy half-smile at her but was treated to a cool stare in return. What was she thinking? Was she pleased with his new-found obsequiousness or did she still hold him in complete disdain? She was sitting there in her perfectly cut suit whilst he stood nervously displaying his naked legs and equally naked manhood. His knees buckled slightly with the effort of standing still and the plimsoll started to fall. Brian knew what was coming next.

  'Bring a sturdy stool into the centre of the stage - a whipping stool,' his idol said matter of factly.

  'Yes, Ma'am,' he replied huskily then headed for the main furniture store. As he walked, his little pink cheeks jiggled and he asked himself again why he didn't just head for home.

  But when he returned he knew - she was so learned, could teach him so much. As an added bonus, she was physically compelling. If he stayed within her sphere he'd become a multi-faceted individual. If he left he'd soon return to his somewhat shallow and daydream-filled ways.

  'Which way do you want me?' he mumbled ashamedly, setting down the four legged stool.

  'I want you to be thoughtful and considerate. But for now I'll settle for tanning your arse whilst you howl for mercy,' the stage manager said. She climbed the stairs to the stage then pointed to the polished wood. 'Lift your shirt up high then get into position.'

  Brian gulped but hastened to do as she said. 'It's uncomfortable up here,' he muttered half to himself.

  'You'll know what real discomfort is in a moment,' his instructress said.

  Brian held his breath as he felt her trace the cane down his haunches. She did so six times then he felt the air currents change. He cried out as the rod smarted its message into his flesh: don't drink, be good, be truthful. Then he tried to make his bottom as small as possible before she walloped it again.

  He lay, arched over the stool, bum tensing, waiting. After a couple of moments he looked back to see her admiring his cheeks. 'Such a pretty canvas - the pink background and the one slim red line,' she said thoughtfully. 'Like a modernist painting in some fashionable gallery.' A canvas that writhes, Brian thought - but he didn't dare say it. Failure to obey a basic instruction had cost him a slippering whilst having a drink had earned him this caning. If he was rude then God knows what she'd do to punish his disarmed flesh.

  'I think I'll lay the second stroke directly below the first,' she said. 'I've always been very good at darts and basketball, at anything which involves aiming.'

  'Yes, Ms Guilden,' Brian muttered, tensing his naked curves again. He tried to steel himself for the lash - but it still unnerved him. The stool rocked backwards as he jumped to his feet, holding his disciplined flesh. 'Bent over like that - too much!' he gasped out, rubbing.

  'Assume the position again whilst I repeat that stroke,' his tormentor said.

  'But I...'

  'The only butt I'm interested in is yours bent over that whipping stool,' Ms Guilden said. Her voice softened slightly. 'Just do what you're told, you silly boy. Afterwards you'll feel purged of all your bad thoughts and erroneous deeds.'

  'It stings so much,' Brian mumbled, aware that the impact of the rod had already subsided somewhat. With a last rueful rub at his second stripe he got into place again.

  Only this time he couldn't keep still - especially knowing that the last lash was to be repeated. His buttocks swung from one side to the other almost of their own volition. 'Sony, sorry, sorry,' Brian said. He looked around at his task-mistress but she was waiting patiently with the cane in her hand but at her side.

  At last he controlled himself and took the repeated second stroke just below its predecessor. Then she laid on another stroke in quick succession and he cried out and scrabbled from the stool again.

  'So sore. I... I'll throw the content of my drinks cabinet away if you'll forgive me.' He rubbed his punished areas and stared at her pleadingly.

  'You're still thinking up knee jerk reactions and not fully dealing with the issue in hand. That's why you have to be firmly disciplined,' the stage manager said.

  Driven by forces he couldn't fully understand, Brian sank to the floor and kissed her leather-shod feet. 'I so want to please you.'

  'Your position pleases me. But grovelling won't save you from a whipping,' his superior said. She put a finger beneath his chin to raise his head, then stared into his eyes. 'You're doing well. Only three to go. But you failed to stay on the stool so there must be a penalty.'

  'Yes, Mistress,' Brian said dutifully then was filled with wonder that he'd addressed her by such a name. Did she see him as a potential personal slave to be trained and occasionally pleasured? Or was he merely some uppity actor who had spoilt the theatre's opening night and thus brought her shame?

  'What I propose,' the woman continued, 'is that you take the last three strokes standing up - and holding something valuable.' She disappeared stage left for a few moments then came back holding a crystal figurine. 'This will do.'

  Brian gulped some more. He hadn't realised it was possible to produce this much saliva. The figure she was holding was the regional equivalent of an Oscar - known as a Lawrence locally. The figures were sculpted by a local man and had sentimental and monetary value. They were on show in the theatre reception until the next Awards Night later in the year.

  'Face the wall,' the determined manager said. 'Yes, Miss.' Brian immediately obeyed her.

  'Now hold the Lawrence out in both hands. That way. That's it.'

  'What if I drop it?' Brian whispered, holding on for dear life.

  Ms Guilden's smile didn't meet her eyes. 'I don't know if your pain threshold will be able to cope with the consequences, you naughty boy.'

  'I want to please,' Brian continued huskily, 'but its hard...'

  'Learning curves which result in real knowledge are always hard won.' Ms Guilden walked smartly up behind him. 'You'll thank me for this one day.'

  He heard the scrape of the rod as she picked it up from the floor. He closed his eyes then opened them quickly; he'd better concentrate on not dropping the figurine. He was still concentrating when the cane bit into his posterior making him dance on the spot.

  'Aaah! The tip flicked my stomach,' he said, jiggling about and looking at the pointed pink telltale mark. He daren't rub the hurt as she'd told him to keep clutching the figurine in both outstretched hands.

  'Let's see.' As Ms Guilden spoke he heard her set down the rod. Then she walked in front of him and stared into his eyes and ran her fingers down his hirsute stomach. Brian moaned with increasing pleasure as her hand strayed down, down, down. 'Has that taken your mind off it?' she murmured.

  'Yes, Mistress,' Brian whispered.

  'Then let's proceed with your punishment,' his instructress said.

  Throughout her exquisite ministrations Brian had kept clutching the crystal award. Now he held it out exactly as she'd told him. He waited with increasing trepidation for the cane.

  'Ple
ase - just do it now,' he mumbled, fearing that his nerve was lessening.

  'No, you have to wait - like I waited to hear you drunkenly slur your lines tonight,' the unyielding brunette said. A mocking smile crept into her voice. 'Prove to me that you don't need Dutch courage in order to display yourself on centre stage, Brian. Show me your most intimate place.'

  God, she was merciless. The younger man searched for a joke, a means of diverting her attention from this latest command. Ms Guilden ran her fingers down his front again. 'I'm waiting.'

  'What... what do you want me to do?' Brian asked.

  The stage manager looked into his face. 'I want you to spread your nether cheeks for my inspection.'

  'And if I don't?' the young actor muttered.

  'You might make this rattan very angry and she'd flog you twice as hard.'

  Which was the lesser of two evils - an embarrassing disclosure or a hotter bum? Knowing that he could only bear a limited acquaintance with the heartless rod, Brian opted for exhibiting his secret places. Blushing, he set down the figurine then took hold of his crevice and pulled it slightly apart.

  'Good boy. I may explore you fully with a leather gloved finger later,' Ms Guilden said evenly. Now get back into position for the last two strokes of the cane.'

  With a half sob, Brian complied. Ms Guilden walked around until she was facing him and unwound his fingers from the crystal figure. 'You're doing very well, boy. You don't have to hold that any more.' She looked at him for a silent moment. 'In fact, I'm prepared to be even more lenient. I'll give you the option of two strokes with a table tennis bat instead.'

  Brian understood a little physics, knew that being whipped with a broad implement wouldn't hurt as much as being struck with a thin implement.

  'Thank you, Mistress. I deserve to be spanked with the table tennis bat,' he said.

  For a brief second she patted his shoulder. He wanted to cry with relief at the tender gesture. Instead he dropped to his knees and gently kissed her shod feet.

  'To the Games Room,' his unshakeable goddess said. He crawled obediently behind her like a clumsy bear cub. 'No, crawl in front of me. I want to see your little hot haunches jiggling,' she explained.

  New humiliation bringing further colour to his face, Brian forced himself to comply with her hateful instructions. He felt so horribly exposed, so vulnerable in his white short-sleeved shirt and naked bottom, the ensemble of foolishness crowned - or rather tailed - by grey ankle socks. 'Work your knees, I want to see those cheeks raised higher,' the woman continued. Brian increased the pace and energy of his crawl.

  At last they reached the Games Room and he pushed open the door then slunk meekly into it. He stared at the green baize table then gazed back at his disciplinarian. She nodded. 'Only two more. You can take it.'

  'I'll take it to please you, Mistress,' he said. He slowly uncoiled from his servile position then got into place across the table, bending at the waist and gripping the furthest edge.

  'Your bottom looks suitably sore. A nice mixture of plimsoll prints and rattan stripes,' the stage manager murmured.

  'Thank you, Mistress. Please... please lay on the remaining strokes, Mistress,' Brian said nervously. He wanted her love - but knew he'd have to settle for her approval. If only there was a less painful and less degrading way.

  But she was in charge - and she wanted him prostrate, like this, waiting for his final comeuppance.

  'You've asked for your punishment very sweetly so now I'm going to be fairly moderate,' the older woman said. Brian watched her pick up one of the little bats and move out of sight behind him. Seconds later it made contact with his disarmed left cheek.

  'Ouch,' he cried, holding more tightly to the table and forcing himself not to rise up in automatic protest.

  'A stretched bum on the home stretch,' the stage manager said scornfully and he blushed and writhed in place.

  'My bottom's really sore but it .knows that it deserves the last stroke,' he whispered. Then he groaned and squirmed as his punisher slapped the bat into his tender base.

  'What... what happens now, Mistress?' he asked. He looked up to see her standing across the room and removing her panties.

  'Now that the young actor has proven himself capable of a good physical performance,' she said huskily, 'I'd like to put him through his paces on oral technique...'

  Dream Lover

  I was sleepwalking when I entered the house, but woke up when I reached the last step leading to the basement. The yelping uh-uh-uh of a female orgasm pierced through the varnished oak door. It was the cry of new-found rapture, of bliss beyond measure - a cry that made me ache to know more.

  The brass handle slid round smoothly at my touch and I walked in, vaguely registering wool beneath my feet and warmth all around me. I blinked, then focused on the scene before my eyes. A man dressed in a formal dinner suit sat in a large armless chair. His right palm was raised, the fingers flexing. There was a naked girl of around nineteen draped over his knee.

  'Did I give you permission to orgasm, Annette?' he asked. The bare-bottomed girl trembled, and I noticed it was a very red and sore-looking bottom.

  'No, sir,' she whispered reluctantly, tensing her little cheeks.

  'This is supposed to be for punishment, not reward,' continued her tormentor, 'which means I'll have to thrash you all over again.' He contemplated her defenceless bum for a moment then his palm made slapping contact with it. He smiled contentedly as Annette jerked and yelped. I stared at the spreading red palmprint on her hot left buttock. Somehow I knew I was going to be next.

  The man's words confirmed this. 'I'll be with you soon, Sarah,' he said, looking at me but aiming a cruel spank at the other girl's raised spheres. 'I didn't expect you to sleepwalk so fast,' he added congenially. 'Thought I'd have finished correcting this wicked young Miss.'

  'And who are you, exactly?' I muttered, trying to tug my thigh-brushing nightie down further over my nude backside in order to protect it from a roasting.

  'All will be revealed in due course,' continued the stranger with a smile that didn't meet his eyes. I had a horrible feeling that I'd writhe throughout his revelations, that all he wanted to reveal was my small cool backside.

  Unable to bear such a shameful prospect, I turned to flee. 'You can leave if you want,' said the man. 'But that way you'll retain your demons. You'll keep sleepwalking, keep having these awful dreams.'

  So he knew about the dreams, about the daily nagging guilt which wore at my conscience? I stopped walking then looked back at him. 'And if I stay?'

  'If you stay I'll spank your bottom till it's very sore indeed, but after that you'll be cleansed of your bad behaviour.'

  I hesitated, looking at the other girl's punished contours, then sank down on the carpet near the door to await my correction. Better a short sharp shock than this seemingly-endless regret.

  The man continued to spank the luckless Annette, heating each orb despite her breathless pleas and wriggles. 'Sir, I won't steal from the other students again,' she gasped, twitching each inch of her twin rotundities.

  'You won't if you know it'll earn you an hour across my lap,' the all-knowing man said. He toasted the centre of her cheeks then the sides, spanked the dividing furrow. He slapped the defenceless backs of her smooth young thighs.

  When he'd finished, her rump looked very sore indeed. Now stand facing the corner with your hands on top of your head,' he instructed, 'so that Sarah can look at you whilst she endures her own hot bottom.' I sat more firmly on my small bum as I heard his warning words. How could he say this or do this? How did he know my Christian name and my past history? 'I can do this because I'm the physical manifestation of your Conscience,' my new Master said, as if I'd asked my questions out loud. 'I'm your guilty thoughts made manifest.'

  'I don't understand,' I muttered, partly because I didn't and partly because I was stalling for time.

  'If you wish something enough and your will is strong enough then it happens,' said the strang
er, looking slightly bored with the conversation. 'You and various other young women and men wanted to be punished for your misdeeds, so here I am.'

  'But you're real,' I added. 'Not a confessional figure in a dream.'

  'Full marks for observation,' my tormentor said dryly. 'I've drawn on the sheer power of your need to take on a material form.' He focused on me more fully. 'Stretch across my lap and I'll explain everything whilst I punish you,' he said.

  'And if I don't?' I countered, hating the prospect of being arched over his knee and soundly chastened.

  'If you don't,' the spanker said, 'you'll spend each day worrying about the wrongs you did your poor husband and wishing you'd used this one chance to put things right.'

  I wanted to put things right, but couldn't quite bring myself to bend like a sacrifice across his knee. 'Got to catch me first,' I muttered, making a half-hearted move towards the door.

  'Alright, so we start with a chase-me game,' the stranger snorted, and as I ran I heard him stand up and cross the basement. 'But your spanking's still for real.'

  He caught me as I reached the door, and held me captive round the waist. He had the strength of all knowledge in his limbs; I could feel it. I quivered to think of a fraction of that strength being used to spank my tender rear. 'Yes, you should be worried,' the man said, throwing me over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. 'It's a terrible thing to betray a faithful and loving partner like your man.'

  'It was only the once and I've regretted it ever since,' I gasped pleadingly as he carried me towards the spanking chair. I drummed my naked feet against his body and wished that I was wearing a full length nightdress rather than this scrap of lemon silk. The man dumped me momentarily on the carpet, took a seat, then pulled me over his knee until my head hung down on one side of him and my legs down the other. By raising my eyes I could see the twitching crimsoned bottom of the corner-based Annette.

  'She got her hot little rump for stealing. You deserve a hotter one for adultery,' said the man.