Corrective Measures

by Sarah Veitch

  Aaron Greaves stepped slightly closer and slapped his palm insinuatingly against his thigh. 'You'll be caned later for trying to give your superiors such crass instructions,' he told her. 'A pony girl should be seen and not heard.'

  Magdalen's labial lips parted like a baby bird's beak at his words and she gasped with cowed humiliation and carnal hunger. She took the garments from the pony club owner then stared into the middle distance as she began to undress. His relentless stare psychically stroked her breasts and buttocks. Did he find her body too short, tall, fat or thin?

  Slowly she stripped off her cotton crotch thong and mini dress, then squirmed into the black PVC studded panties. 'Good girl,' her Master murmured as she smoothed the glossy garment over her twitching bottom cheeks. Blushing, Magdalen unhooked her satin bra. Think of the puppies, she reminded herself as her soft breasts sprung free of their white lacy half cups. She picked up the peephole PVC bra and put it on, surprised and pleased by how decadent it made her normally coy pink nipples look. 'Satisfied?' she asked in what she hoped was a challenging tone. Inside she felt lusciously yielding and very passive indeed.

  'Not quite - I have to attach these reins to your bra strap,' Aaron said mildly, and proceeded to do so. Then he handed her two further handles that were attached by another set of reins to the cart. Tentatively the naturalist stepped forward and the slave chariot obligingly lurched after her. The Equestrian Club owner quickly spanked first one pantied cheek then the other. 'Wait till I'm in the cart, girl, or you'll be bent over its side rather than pulling it, then you'll whimper under my whip for a very long time.'

  Magdalen remembered the caning he'd said she was already due, and her spanked orbs trembled. They quivered some more as her Master climbed into the driving seat and produced a lightweight braided switch. 'This one's mainly for show, I'm afraid,' he said matter of factly, 'but even a light application reminds my pony girls to increase their pace.'

  The chariot rocked slightly as he tugged on the reins. 'Canter round, love, and keep those pretty legs up high,' he warned, flicking the whip against her PVC-hugged buttocks. Magdalen stepped forward and was impressed at how lightly the chariot moved. She broke into a fast trot, her body teetering forward on the impossible high thin heels, her thigh muscles tightening. The sun highlighted her bare but PVC-ringed nipples and her pudenda pulsed inside the studded briefs.

  Five times she trotted down the stretching yard then cantered briskly back again. Then she stopped and said 'Whew, I'm going to have to stop for a drink.'

  Silence greeted her. She looked round. Aaron was pursing his lips and shaking his head. 'I'll have to increase your caning for this latest insolence. Ask humbly for water - don't inform your Master that you're going to stop pulling your cart,' he said.

  'Right, well I'm asking now!' Magdalen muttered hollowly, worried by this further threat of being flogged.

  She relaxed as her owner murmured 'So the little horse needs water,' before he disembarked and made his way to the enormous house.

  He returned with a half-filled nose bag and held it up to Magdalen's gaping mouth. Feeling silly, she lapped clumsily at the brew, realising that it was carbonated mineral water. It trilled through her system like the finest champagne, wakening each cell of her body up, up, up. 'Now you're to be thrashed for insubordination,' the Equestrian Club owner continued. His eyes radiated both amusement and mischief but his mouth was set in a displeased firm line.

  Wondering what her bum must look like in the clingy PVC briefs, Magdalen walked shakily before him to the house. 'The Punishment Room is that way,' he said, pointing to the fourth door along the hall.

  'Flagellate your staff all the time, do you?' Magdalen asked with hard won temerity.

  'Only when their lack of respect warrants a sore bum,' the affluent landowner replied. Magdalen wondered what a sore bum would feel like, and knew that each second took her closer to finding out. Her body now wished that she'd been more deferential whilst her mind longed to know how the cane felt as it flared against womanly flesh. After all, the females who worked here were reported to be addicted to this man's particular brand of punishment. Maybe these things called endorphins which made people feel all floaty would kick in...

  Magdalen entered the chastisement area and stared at the disciplinary chairs and trestles, the leather tawses and polished wooden paddles.

  'Bend your arse over that sloping punishment stool in the centre,' her Master said evenly, 'then pull down those PVC pants.'

  The twenty-three year old got awkwardly into position over the four-legged bolstered wood. 'Couldn't I just keep them on for the first stroke?' she murmured, holding on to her pants cajolingly.

  Aaron's voice and words brooked no opposition. 'You've just earned another stroke for speaking out of turn, little slave girl. That's on top of your already allotted three,' he explained.

  Four strokes didn't sound too bad. Magdalen reached back and pulled down the clingy black pants, wincing at the ignominy. Then she regripped the bar at the lower legs of the stool and awaited the first slender lash. She lay over the exhibiting rack with her bare bottom waiting. She waited and waited for a very long time. Just do it, she thought, as the anticipation built cruelly deep within her. Her entire being was now focused on her helpless backside. 'Don't wriggle,' said her Master's voice and she realised belatedly that she'd been tensing and untensing her smooth pale naked cheeks.

  Magdalen forced her twin globes to relax - and immediately Aaron laid the first rattan stripe across her previously virgin hemispheres. The rod swished across their centre, and Magdalen yelled and swung her emblazoned hips from side to side.

  'Shall I kiss it better?' a cool voice asked.

  The twenty-three year old hesitated, torn between telling him to go to hell and wanting him quite badly. The needy part of her persona won. 'Yes please, sir,' she whispered huskily. 'Please lick and kiss my flesh.'

  She quivered with loins-based lust as she felt his teasing lips trace the stinging stripe. How she longed for his firm tongue to move on to her juice-slicked pudenda. But after an enjoyable moment Aaron moved his knowing mouth away.

  'You need stroke two,' he warned. 'You have to endure the pain before you can enjoy the pleasure.'

  Magdalen obediently tried to hold her body in place. This stroke went lower than the first, and again she reared up in real protest for a moment and writhed and whimpered. 'Easy - those naughty cheeks are halfway there, sweetheart,' her Master said.

  Magdalen felt the cane slide down her twin stripes as if deciding where to land next time. After an agonising wait it landed just above her taut young thigh backs. 'Aaargh,' she shouted and jumped up, both small hands rushing to her reddening bum. Shifting from foot to foot and snivelling reproachfully, she tried to rub the focused lines of heat from her aching curves.

  'Were you given permission to rise?' Aaron asked softly.

  'No, but...' Magdalen thought better of contradicting her Master and searched for a more obsequious phrase that would spare her buttocks. 'No, sir - I jumped up without permission. I'm sorry for being so naughty, sir,' she said.

  Aaron jerked his thumb towards the punishment stool then shook his head. 'We have to make a naughty girl especially sorry. I'll have to push a pillow under your tummy to raise that runaway arse especially high.'

  At his bidding, Magdalen got back over the stool then arched resignedly. She breathed hard as he slid the hill-shaped bolster into place then took his time adjusting it. It re-angled her belly and turned her bum into a much more obscenely displayed and vulnerable prey. The twenty-three year old squirmed about on the cushion as she awaited the last of her caning. Now she truly pitied her hot, sore, twitching nether cheeks.

  'I'll have to apply the fourth stroke on top of the third,' Aaron said. 'I know it stings but it also beats a direct path to a submissive girl's clitoris and hungry hollow.' Magdalen knew by the wet threads spiralling from her sex lips that it already had.

  'Please get it over with,' she m
uttered, opening and closing her fingers around the sturdy legs of the devilishly crafted punishment stool.

  'No, a nice bare arse like this requires much gloating time,' Aaron said. He tapped the rattan against the crevice in her arse then laughed when she puckered up her bum cheeks in a body language plea for lenience. 'Now be a good slave and pony girl or I'll tell your seller that you weren't worth two hundred quid.'

  'I swear I'll be worth it,' Magdalen shot back, opening her legs invitingly and trying to distract him from further whipping her bare bottom.

  'Legs together girl, and ask nicely for the final rattan lash,' the Club Owner said.

  'Please... uh... mercilessly warm me up for the last time today, sir,' Magdalen forced out through a haze of humiliation and desire.

  At last her Master swished his cane into her writhing underswell. Magdalen's feet came up off of the floor and she bent back her legs as if to provide a belated barrier to shield her extremities. 'Now lie there without touching your bum cheeks and reflect on your crimes to date,' Aaron said. Magdalen lay over the stool - but all she could think about was her desperate clitoris and aching vulva. 'Please kiss it better again, sir,' she muttered wantonly. 'Oh Master, please!'

  She lay there almost sobbing with need, then felt two cool hands palming her sore rotundities. They traced the blurred red lines causing hot bursts of spreading inner joy and fast-externalising love gel. 'Does the slave desire a teasing taste of her Master's cock?' Aaron's voice enquired.

  'Yes, sir, the slave begs for even an inch of cock,' Magdalen groaned, excited beyond endurance. She sighed with relief as she heard his trouser zip go down and he drove in all the way. He slid his knowing right hand under her pubis and urged her to press against it. He thrust. She moaned then pressed. Thrust, moaned, pressed. Pleasure was building from within and without as his belly slapped against her scarlet buttocks. Her hard nipples rubbed against the correction stool as her mind and body soared closer to the edge.

  'I'll roast your sore bare bottom again if you come too slowly. I'll look out the whip with the knotted multi-thongs,' Aaron whispered huskily as he thrust. And as she shrieked her orgasm, Magdalen understood why his staff accepted their bare bottom spankings and came back for many more.

  Thereafter she showered and dressed and ate smoked salmon roulade with freshly-baked brown bread and lemon wedges. 'Shall I stay till dinner?' she asked sleepily as they sat in the circular dining hall.

  The clock chimed 3pm. 'No need,' Aaron smiled, pushing aside his glass of claret, 'you've done more than enough, my bridled dear.' Magdalen checked that her house keys and ten pound note were in her slave dress pocket, then Aaron called for a taxi to take her home.

  'You can borrow my housekeeper's coat,' he said solicitously, helping her button it so that it covered her bare young thighs and pouting mammaries. 'Great dress for a Slave Auction - but you don't want the cab driver making a pass.'

  The next day Magdalen made a sun-kissed walk to Aaron's to return the coat. She thought with affection of their amorous antics. But as she reached the inner yard she heard two male voices, loud with glee and boastful pride.

  'She did everything I wanted,' Aaron whooped.

  'Expensive, though - I'd hoped to get her for a hundred,' said the second masculine timbre. Magdalen peaked around the gate to see that the second voice belonged to the balding man who'd made the penultimate bid.

  'Thought I'd speed the process up. I wanted to get the video underway,' Aaron said archly. He handed over a black cassette. 'It's all yours, Eddie - watch our newest pony girl dress down and up, trot, get caned and finally climax. Her face doesn't appear on the film, needless to say.'

  'The punters don't care about her face,' the greasy man laughed. Magdalen could only see him in profile but she was sure that he was winking. 'They just want to view a well-caned female arse.'

  'And they will, they will,' Aaron shot back. His voice sounded uneven from either desire or desperation. 'Those previously untouched striped cheeks will bring in loadsa money for you both here and in The States.' He patted the other man's shoulder ingratiatingly. 'It'll give your regulars a change from my usual staff.'

  Magdalen watched as Eddie pulled out a wad of notes and handed it to the equestrian man. Aaron counted it studiously but fast. The smaller man laughed knowingly. 'That should keep you betting on the ponies for a while.'

  She was one pony who had definitely had enough. The naturalist hid behind the fuchsias till the greasy toad had gone then she walked determinedly up to Aaron who suddenly looked very nervous. 'I'll tell the police and press how you've been conning women,' she murmured. 'Unless...'

  Moments later she cracked the whip over the buttocks of her very own male steer as she rode him bareback. 'Are you going to run faster, my naughty pony boy,' she murmured contentedly. 'Or do I have to motivate your flanks by fetching the spurs?'

  The Tutorial

  Nervously Bertha Morton entered her new employer's redbrick mansion house.

  'Here are my references, Ma'am,' she murmured, holding out her floor length calico skirts in a deep low curtsey.

  Mistress Randolph accepted the proffered character and unsmilingly studied it. 'Your last employer tells me that you are a very good girl. I hope so, for I expect total obedience from my staff.' Her dark hair was pulled back in a top knot, a severe style which brooked no opposition. Her full navy skirts were expensive, but equally drab.

  'I'll always do your bidding, Ma'am,' the eighteen year old governess said, dipping her full-figured young body still further towards the floor.

  'I trust you will,' the plain-faced older woman said archly. 'For infractions in this household are strictly punished by the rod.'

  Bertha blushed but nodded her head. Servants were regularly whipped and caned and birched in this, the reign of Queen Victoria. She'd be all-seeing and all-knowing as she'd been in her last household where she'd never had to endure the severe kiss of the cane.

  For the first few weeks of her indenture Bertha listened and looked and managed to please the Randolphs. She instructed Lucy, four and Charles, six, during daylight. Sometimes she went downstairs to the kitchen at night to talk to the other maids. One day the children wanted to avail themselves of the beach, but it was raining heavily. 'I shall fetch the sea indoors,' the innovative Bertha said.

  She drew buckets of water from downstairs and brought them up and filled the large tin bath in the corner. 'See? We can study how objects float and how they behave when they're submerged.'

  'Mistress wants to see you now,' one of the servant girls said breathlessly, hurrying in. 'Don't tarry, Miss, or you'll make her angry.' Picking up her skirts, Bertha hurried to Mrs Randolph's rooms.

  The older woman sat on the brocade chaise longue in her sun lounge looking slightly displeased. 'My husband gave young Charles a simple math test yesterday. He hadn't improved since his nanny left,' she said.

  Bertha licked lips that were suddenly dry. 'Begging your pardon, Ma'am. I thought I'd get to know their dispositions better before taxing their young minds too thoroughly. Plenty of time for book learning when...'

  'As I said when you came into service, I expect obedience, Miss Morton,' Mistress Randolph interrupted. 'I want well-schooled children - not ones who idle their formative years away.'

  'I intend to see that...' Bertha started humbly. She grimaced as a drop of water landed on the end of her nose. It was followed by another drop and another. Both women looked up to see a cascade starting to pour through the ornately-corniced roof.

  'Fetch the housekeeper - tell her that there must have been a cloudburst above,' Mrs Randolph spluttered.

  Bertha felt her face glowing. 'I... suspect that it's my fault, Mistress,' she said.

  The next few moments were filled with commotion and distress. Every servant in the household mopped at the ruined rugs and sodden curtain ends and water-stained carpets. A maid righted the bath that the children had turned over then took them away to change them into new dry clothes.
Mistress Randolph listened grimly to how Bertha had left the children unattended then pointed to her husband's study at the end of the ground floor hall.

  'Bend over my husband's desk, Miss Morton, and await your caning. I'll be in to thrash you soundly when I've taken tea.'

  Bertha's full breasts heaved at this new belittlement. 'Mistress, perhaps you could dock my stipend or... or withhold my lunch for a few days instead?'

  'No, as I said before, a broken rule earns the culprit a badly beaten bottom,' the older woman said.

  'Perhaps you could cane my hands, then?' Bertha whispered, holding out both palms in a pleading gesture.

  'I'd rather turn your arse the colour of those glowing crimson curtains,' her employer explained.

  Bertha coloured still more at the use of the word arse - a word that Mistress Randolph would never use when taking tea with her genteel lady friends. She'd only debase a helpless servant in so crude a way. Realising that a partial stripping was inevitable, the helpless governess curtseyed. 'Yes, Ma'am. As you wish, Ma'am. I'll go to your husband's study now and await the rod.'

  Slowly she left the nursery and walked to the oak-doored room then tremulously entered it. She'd seen and heard servants being whipped on their raised posteriors, but had never had her own buttocks soundly thrashed. Now she stared at Mr Randolph's large mahogany desk with its leather-bound blotter and equestrian paperweights. Moving with the greatest care, she put each object on the nearby fireplace then she took a deep breath and bent her belly over the smooth hard wood.

  For five minutes or ten Bertha lay there, feeling ever more fearful about the fate of her virgin buttocks. At last she heard the clip clop clip of her Mistress's high-heeled shoes.

  'I've no choice but to discipline you severely for that dangerous escapade,' the older woman said softly. 'Keep your bottom bent over but lift your skirts.'

  Bertha quivered but obediently pulled her floor-length dress up and folded it over her back. She then did the same with her layers of lace-trimmed petticoats.