by Victor Bruno
“If Mr. Mason had brought the facts to me,” he went on, “I would have had to take the case to Court. I reckon you might have been sent to a Reform School.” I shuddered at the very mention of such a place. One heard such terrible stories about them. The strappings and canings I was getting would seem lenient compared with what girls sent there received. Except, possibly, my last caning. “I sincerely hope it won’t happen again,” concluded the Sergeant.
“Oh ... it w-won’t,” I promised.
“Naturally,” chipped in Dad, “I gave her a real good hiding.” “I should hope so too,” said Sergeant Faraday pompously. “The worst you’ve ever had, eh Joan?” enquired Dad.
“Yes,” I nodded. It certainly had been. I had looked at my bottom in the mirror that morning and had seen that all the weals had turned a purple colour and black and yellow at the ends. No wonder I was still sore. But why did Dad have to talk about this in front of the Sergeant? Why had he told him about what happened in the office?
“I’d like evidence of that,” said the Sergeant. “Otherwise I still might have to take this matter to Court. Prosecution is not entirely up to the individual, you know.”
“I suppose not,” replied Dad, giving the Sergeant a long look. I was beginning to feel sick and shaky inside, for I could see where all this was leading. All too clearly. “You’d better take a look then, George. See if you think it was adequate.”
“Yes, perhaps I’d better,” said the Sergeant. His cheeks seemed even more highly coloured than when I had come into the room. Dad gave me a hard stare. “Show the Sergeant, Joan.”
“Oh ... please ... Dad ...” I seemed to be showing my striped bottom to one man after the other. First Mr. Mason, now the Sergeant. I didn’t know which was worse.
“You heard what the Sergeant said, Joan ... you don’t want to end up in Court after all, do you?” I certainly did not! So, once again, I had no option. I turned my back and lifted my skirt. The multiple weals could easily be seen through the thin white cotton knickers.
“Take them down, girl, so I can see properly,” ordered the Sergeant. Oh how I hated the beast! Reluctantly, I pushed my knickers to my knees, keeping my legs as close together as possible. There was a long pause. I was shuddering with shame. “Hmmmm ...” said the Sergeant at long last. “You seem to have done a right good job there, Frank.”
“Thanks,” said Dad, a shade smugly.
“Alright,” said the Sergeant, “you can pull them up again now.” I did so then quickly dropped my skirt.
“Off to bed with you,” said Dad. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to get out of that room!
I went to bed and soon dropped off only to be awakened by Dad coming up the stairs some two hours later. Fear gripped me. Then, to my intense relief, I heard him opening Elsie’s door. Rotten for her, I know, but I reckon I’d had more than my fair share that week.
I heard him going on at her but had no idea what she had done. Or not done. Was it serious? Was she going to get the strap or the cane? Then I heard the bed creak as Elsie got on to it. My nerves were tingling for her. Then I heard the ‘thwack’ of leather on flesh followed by a loud gasp. Well, that’s something, I said to myself. Not the cane. It was just a question now of how many.
Steadily the strokes mounted to six, with Elsie gasping out louder and louder at each. Then the ‘thwacking’ stopped and I heard Elsie sobbing softly. But, in fact, she had got off lightly. Six of the strap was the lightest punishment Dad ever gave us.
I am dreading going into the office tomorrow, but know I must ... June 26th
Another week has begun ... and it has begun badly. This morning I went to Mr Mason’s office as usual. Was thankful to find that he had already gone out. Life in the office has been dreadful ever since he accused me of robbing the petty cash and spanked me. Worse, Dad found out and told him that, in future, he could spank me if ever I got out of line.
This permission seems to have gone to his head. He is now full of confidence and cheeky arrogance, making the most awful rude remarks and behaving just as he likes. The trouble is, I can’t really do anything about it. I know he is just itching for an opportunity to spank me again, so I dare not complain and have to do just as he says. If he does, it will be reported to Dad who, more than likely, will punish me as well. It is a terrible predicament to be in.
Mr Mason came bouncing gin about 11 o’clock.
“Morning Jane.” he said gaily, “how are we this morning?” “Alright thank you Mr Mason,” I said as politely as I could. “Bottom still a bit sore is it?”
Dad had given me a terrible caning the previous week and Mr Mason knew all about it. It was punishment for stealing from the petty cash, something I had not done. Nobody believed me though. I felt my cheeks going red. Oh God, he wasn’t going to ask me to show him again was he?
“Tits are sticking out as nicely as ever,” he said with a leer, that’s the horrible way he talks to me these days and I simply have to put up with it. My cheeks flushed even further. Thankfully he walked through to his office and closed the door. My heart was beating like a trip hammer. I hated him. I hated him for the power he held over me. My stepfather had done a dreadful thing and I wondered if he realised?
It was difficult to concentrate and I made several typing errors which had to be corrected before Mr
Mason saw them.
About half an hour later he buzzed for me to go into his office. I took my shorthand notebook with me. He was sitting back in his chair smoking a cigarette and looking very pleased with himself.
“Joan,” he said with that appalling slit-eyed look of his, “I have decided to make a closer examination of those tits of yours.” Just like that! I was stunned. Was he joking or did he really mean it? I was totally shocked. “Unless you’d prefer to have another spanking of course. I don’t mind either way?” It was blackmail, pure blackmail. He grinned. “You don’t want another spanking do you?”
“N-No, of course not!”
“Well then, just unbutton your blouse and show me what you’ve got.” “P-Please Mr Mason ... don’t make me ... It’s not right ...”
“Not right?” He laughed. “What’s that got to do with it. What goes on between you and me within these four walls nobody knows about, except your father of course.” He paused. “Now then do I have to spank you or are you going to show me those nice tits of yours?”
“Mr Mason ... It’s not f-fair ... It’s i-indecent ...”
“Don’t be stupid girl. What’s indecent about a girl’s breasts? You’ve got a couple of beauties and
I’m going to take a long look at them.” “Ohhh ... You’re horrible ... beastly ...”
He stopped smiling and looked very severe.
“I’ve a damn good mind to give you a spanking for your insolence,” he said angrily and I winced away from the desk.
“Noooooo ...ooo. Please nooo ...!” I realised that I had overstepped the mark. Panic gripped me. He mustn’t spank me. I couldn’t bear another beating. “Alright ...” I said and began to unbutton my blouse. His eyes, bright and beady were on me. I couldn’t bear to look at him as I opened my blouse and revealed my thin white brassiere. Mr Mason stood up and placed himself directly in front of me.
“Take that thing off,” he said gruffly. “P-Please ...”
“Take the damn thing off!” he repeated.
What could I do? I put my hands up behind me and unclipped it. It fell away and my breasts swung out, naked and free. My cheeks were scarlet and I’m sure I felt my breasts blushing too!
“You don’t really need to wear a bra Joan,” he said as, with a sudden movement, he reached out and placed his hands over them. I shrieked and tried to twist away. “And they feel just as good as they look,” he muttered as he gripped me about the waist with his left hand and mauled my titties with his right. “They really
are two beauties.”
I continued to struggle and shriek but it was all in vain, he was far too strong for my menial efforts to have any effect.
“Please don’t do this Mr Mason. Please don’t do this to me.” He chuckled and I saw his tongue trail across his bottom lip.
“Mmmmm ... I do believe those nipples are getting firm.” I glanced down without thinking. He was right, they were, the horror of it shamed me. The fact that my nipples were reacting to this monster was almost too much to bear. “Well now ...the prim and proper Miss Reeves is enjoying it eh?” His voice was gloating and I wished I could have murdered him there and then.
He continued to have his way with me for a few more minutes and, in the end, I gave up struggling. I think the beast liked to feel me resisting because it made my breasts bounce about. I began to sob with the shame and indecency of it and finally he let me go and returned to his chair. I began to rebutton my blouse, thinking that I could put the brassiere back on later but he made a gesture with his hand.
“No ...” he said “Take the blouse off ... Right off.” Hesitantly and reluctantly I did as he commanded. “Sit down,” he said and I slipped down into a chair, still sobbing and naked from the waist up. It was like a mad dream. “Take a letter Miss Reeves,” he said in his normal ‘office voice’ and he began to dictate. Somehow I copied down what he was saying although I could feel his hot eyes staring at me every minute. “That will be all Miss Reeves,”
I refused to look at him as I retrieved my brassiere and blouse and hurried out of the office trying desperately to stop my free swinging breasts from bouncing against my chest.
I spent a long time weeping over my typewriter.
That evening, when I got home, I once again had the problem of whether to tell my father exactly what had happened. I decided against it. Somehow I felt that it would only get me into more trouble.
Poor Elsie got it again tonight. She’d had a strapping last Friday - not too serious - but this time she got the cane. She told me that she had been caught in the playground, fighting with another girl. They were both hauled off to the Head’s study where they each received six of the best.
Miss Elliot is a big, fat, brawny woman who canes really hard. I know ... I’ve had some from her. Elsie is still only sixteen so she still has five more years of it. She came home with a note telling what had happened and Dad decided to supplement the punishment she had already received.
“Ohhhhh Dad ... pleeeeease no ...” she begged. “My bottom’s so tender already ...”
I felt very sorry for her but, on the other hand, Elsie has quite a temper which she must learn to control. Dad has pointed this out to her before.
Dad ignored her pleas and, while I lay on my bed thinking about the horrible morning I had suffered, I knew Elsie would be quaking on her bed, listening for the footsteps on the stairs.
The sounds came at last. Creak, creak.
Oh what terror fills you when you know you are for it. I, at least could relax on this occasion. I heard Elsie’s door open and close. Then a series of sobs burst from her and I heard her pleading once more. My stepfather is never diverted by such things. Once he has made up his mind that punishment must be delivered he goes ahead regardless.
Then I heard his voice. I only caught snatches. ‘Behave yourself,’ ‘Learn to control yourself,’ ‘The only way to teach you,’ and ‘Up with you.’
More sobbing. The bed creaking as Elsie kneels on it. She will be experiencing the horror of having her hands corded to the bedpost. Now there is nothing she can do to escape what is to come. The scarf will be secured. Her sobs and pleas muffled.
How many is she going to get? Then I think I hear Dad say ‘Twelve’. Poor dear. Twelve on top of the six she has already had is very severe for a sixteen year old. Or even an eighteen year old for that matter.
Silence. The nightie will have been pulled up. The afternoon’s weals will be vividly displayed.
Elsie’s bottom will be flinching and twisting in dread anticipation. Ssssssssswwwweeeee ... eeeepppttt!
The high pitched whistle of the cane followed by its crack into the soft flesh. Followed instantly by a gasping - whinnying like sound of torment. I can imagine Elsie’s bottom jerking and squirming. I know too, the deep searing pain she is enduring at that moment. It is a breath taking pain. Mind bending. I know of no other pain that can compare with the lash of a supple willow across naked flesh.
A long Pause.
Dad believes in keeping a girl waiting. Perhaps he knows how it stretches the nerves. Elsie’s nates will be clenching uncontrollably as she awaits the arrival of the second stroke. She knows there is nothing ... absolutely nothing ... she can do to escape it.
It comes ...
Swwweeeeeee ...pppppttt!
My own nates clench and quiver in anticipation and mute sympathy. Oh poor girl! She is heaving and retching through her gag. Perhaps, however, it will help her control her temper in the future. I know how short she is with me on occasion.
Swwweeeeee ... pppppttttttt!
The third stroke whistled down. Elsie’s gasping cries are high pitched yet still well muffled. Her suffering has begun but will increase. There are still nine strokes to come. At least I think so.
I count the strokes as Dad canes her with methodical precision ... the strokes biting some ten seconds apart. The number reaches six. Perhaps I have made a mistake. Perhaps that will be all.
But no ...
Swwwweeeeeee ...pppppttttt!
Number seven falls. She poor girl is going to get the full dozen. Her gag must have slipped.
“NNoooooo ....Merceee .... no morrreee. Pleeeseee Dad ... no more!” she cries before she is choked into silence as the gag is replaced.
Swwweeeeee ... pppppttt!
Number eight falls. Still four to go. Her mind will be insisting she cannot possibly endure them. But she will have to. Relentlessly, as night follows day, Dad will complete his caning. He always does.
Trembling, eyes moistening in sympathy, I listen as the final four strokes lash and bite into that helpless young bottom. Elsie’s muffled cries become even more high pitched. She is truly in agony. Eleven!
Then, after a long pause. Twelve!
The hardest of all. It always is.
There is another long pause. Then the gag must have been removed. Elsie is moaning, sobbing. Right at the end of her tether. Dad says nothing. He must be releasing her. Then he simply opens and closes the door and goes down stairs.
He feels, I’m sure, that he has done his duty as guardian!
June 27th
I went to the office this morning filled with trepidation. Mr Mason came in looking perky; full of self -onfidence. He is quite a changed man since Dad gave him authority over me.
“Bring your book in half an hour Joan,” he says as he passes by my desk.
“Yes Mr Mason.” His door closes. That’s a relief at least. I get on with book-keeping for the next half hour and then I knock on his door.
“Come in ...” In I go, a bundle of nerves already. He smiles at me, a mocking, possessive sort of smile. I sit, pulling my black, pleated skirt down. He notices my modest gesture and grins. “Joan,” he says, “this office has got altogether too stuffy. Now, yesterday, I quite enjoyed giving you dictation. It was lively you might say. I’ve decided that, when you take dictation in future, you will always do it in the same way. With blouse and bra off ... you understand? Nothing stuffy about that eh?”
I sit there, numbed and disbelieving. This man is a devil. A lecherous devil. “M-Mr Mason ... you can’t really mean that ...?” I croak.
“Oh but I do my dear. You’ve no idea how inspiring your lovely tits are. I’m sure that from now on my business letters will be more like poetry than prose. Come along girl ... off with them!”
Fu
ry consumes me. I sit there quivering with my emotions.
“I won’t,” I say sullenly. Is this beast going to degrade me day in day out? “Oh dear ... Is Miss Reeves asking for another smacked bottom?”
“Oh noooo ...!”
“Perhaps you enjoy it as much as having your tits played with?” “Noooo,”
“You never know with the young ladies of today,” he says with a twisted smile. “It’s either your blouse and bra or your knickers down. Take your choice.”
The room seems to spin, I am helpless. I dare not deny him. To have my bottom bared and then spanked would be even worse than showing my naked breasts. The swine ... oh the filthy swine!
I take my choice ... unbutton my blouse and remove my brassiere.
“Good girl.” His eyes seem to glow and he licks his thick lips hungrily. “In future, whenever I ring for you remove your bra and blouse before coming into my office. Is that clearly understood?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “How can you do this ...”
“Because I have authority over you Joan. And if you ever disobey me you will be soundly spanked. Don’t ever forget it.” He picks up a file. “Now take a letter to Messrs Bridges. You know the address.” He begins to dictate.
I sit there, nakedly exposed. Having to endure it. It is at this moment that I determine to run away.
***
I finished all the letters in the afternoon and then I was called in again. For a moment I panicked. Should I take my blouse off or not? I could always say I’d forgotten. So in I went, fully clothed.
“Haven’t you forgotten something Joan?” he enquired sourly. “N-Noo ...no ... I don’t think so ...” I stammered.
“Your blouse girl! Go out, take it off and then come in again. If this happens once more I shall have no option but to spank you.”
So out I went again and, with trembling fingers, I removed my blouse and then my brassiere. Tears misted my eyes. What a hideous existence I was leading. And I realised it was as much my father’s fault as Mr Mason’s. It was he who had put me in this awful position.
