by Sarah Veitch
Becky looked in the silvery surface and saw her small round cheeks reflected back at her. There were dark crimson tramlines on a background of well-spanked red.
'Very colourful,' she said dutifully.
'A nice canvas on which to lay the reformatory rod,' the man explained.
'But...' Too late Becky remembered that she'd jumped up without permission and earned herself an extra punishment.
'That's butt with two t's - and I'll have you touching your toes for a change,' the man said.
With a last anguished glance at him, Becky obeyed. Her buttocks lifted as she awkwardly assumed the position. Her cheeks seemed to part a little as if allowing him access to their central core.
'Kiss the rod and ask nicely for forgiveness,' he said, bringing over the lengthier new cane.
As Becky did so some new level of submission rushed through her and she dropped to her knees and subserviently kissed his feet.
'I think those chastened cheeks have had enough for now,' he murmured, putting aside the unused rod then gently caressing her. Overcome with desire, she swayed.
And so to bed. Two hours later they relaxed by the fire in his upstairs flat.
'Now what?' Becky asked happily.
'Now we go downstairs to the amusement arcade again.'
'Can't I amuse you up here?' She ran a hand inside his shirt which was still unbuttoned.
'No, I want you to stand gripping the coat hooks on the back wall whilst you taste the reformatory cane.'
The reformatory cane. Becky stilled into watchfulness. 'But I thought...'
'The pleasure we've just had doesn't cancel out your punishment.'
'It's just one stroke. Hardly worth it.'
'It's two now because you've just been so presumptuous,' the older man said.
'And if I can't be bothered going downstairs?'
'I'll have to carry you.'
'And if I refuse to hold onto the coat hook?'
'I'll have to tie your wrists to it instead.'
She'd met her match. Carefully Becky stood up. She felt a new low rush of lust as he pulled down her so recently pulled up panties. Then she felt another thrill of trepidation as he picked up the big cane and led her downstairs.
Sitting Uncomfortably
Model Tenants Incorporated had few rules, but the rules which it did have were strictly adhered to. Linda was told this when she applied for evening work there.
'Are you always punctual?' the interviewer asked.
Linda hesitated, then reminded herself that people invariably lied at interviews. 'Oh yes, Miss Breeson. I detest lateness in others,' she replied, forcing her lightly-glossed lips into an amenable grin.
There was a silence. The interviewer seemed to be not so much looking at her as looking through her. Linda glanced at the desk and squirmed in her seat. 'In fact if anything I'm usually too early,' she babbled on. 'Sometimes I'm so punctual for my night class that I end up helping the tutor to arrange the chairs.'
'At least you talk a lot,' the older woman said drily. 'That helps show potential burglars that the property is occupied. You can talk to yourself as much as you like while you work.'
She went on to explain exactly what the Model Tenants agency did. 'Basically you house-sit when a property's owners are away for a week or two. You only work for a few hours at a time so it's not too restricting, but you don't leave till another employee comes along to relieve you of your shift.'
'And I just sit there?' Linda queried, unable to believe that she was to be paid so handsomely for so little output.
'Well, you switch lights on and off at irregular intervals. You put on the TV and radio in various parts of the house.'
'Sounds like a home from home,' the blonde girl joked. Again she saw that the vaguely masculine-looking interviewer wasn't smiling. Miss Breeson's demeanour spoke business, from the unadorned cut of her navy skirt suit to her feather cut dark hair.
One week later Linda began her new evening job. It sounded foolproof. By day she worked her usual hours as a market researcher. By 6pm she was ensconced in the otherwise unoccupied hotel or sprawling house. There she played music and switched on and off the conversational tapes and watched television. At midnight she went to bed. By 8am the next day one of the other guards arrived to start the day shift, and Linda left the house in his or her capable hands.
But excitement soon turns to apathy. Newness dulls into routine. After a few nights Linda was bored with looking at the oil paintings and Chinese statues she was supposed to be guarding. She wanted dancing, drinking, life. She could sneak out of the back door and hurry along to the Mon Ami Club for an hour, she told herself, brightening. Her best friend worked in the Cocktail Lounge there. If she kept the lights on in the house and left her car outside then potential burglars would never know she'd sneaked away.
She went. The music was soft but the drink was harder. The hour stretched into two hours, as it usually does when you're having fun. Half-laughing to herself as she remembered her friend's gossip, Linda eventually returned to the Tudor-style house. Quietly she let herself in the triple-locked front door and strolled nonchalantly into the living room - then she screamed.
Miss Breeson sat there on the long leather couch. She was staring off into the middle distance. 'You've let the firm down badly, my dear. You'll have to be punished,' she said.
'Miss Breeson! I didn't mean to... I... em... had a headache so went for a walk,' Linda muttered faintly.
'If a guard needs to leave the house there's a procedure to follow, as you well know,' her boss replied.
The drill involved phoning Head Office to ask for a replacement guard to be sent. Linda cleared her throat. 'I... uh... didn't think about the rules for a few moments.'
'And Model Tenants doesn't employ unthinking people. I'll have your P45 ready by next weekend.'
Linda stood, dismayed, in the centre of the room. She stared at her boss's somewhat Teutonic features. She'd heard rumours that the woman was attracted to slim fair-haired girls like herself. Now she wondered if a little flirtation would make all the difference. She had to keep this job.
Slowly she sidled over to the elongated couch, shrugged her jacket and shoes off, then sat next to the older woman, thigh side to thigh side. Her sand-washed silk dress looked very girlish beside Miss Breeson's black denim suit.
'I'd love to make amends,' Linda whispered ambiguously.
'In that case,' the older woman retorted, 'get that disobedient young arse over my knee.'
There was a pause, an even more awkward pause than Linda remembered from her interview. The woman had unnerved her then - but she was positively shaming her now!
'You mean you're going to...?' she started, but couldn't bring herself to add the words spank me.
'I'm going to turn your arse the colour of a Macintosh Red apple,' Miss Breeson replied.
Linda stared at the carpeted ground. She tried to think of some clever word play about fruit but her imagination failed her. Instead, she began playing desperately for time. 'How about if you give me extra unpaid shifts?' she asked.
'You're incapable of meeting your current work tasks so I hardly want to entrust you with extra hours,' her employer answered.
'Dock my wages, then, Miss?'
'Either you accept that this is your last wage or you bare your bum.'
Another laboured silence ensued. Linda looked at her boss's firm hands. She looked at the hem of her own silk dress and imagined it being lifted. She tried to remember which panties she had on.
'Just a... a few smacks and I keep my job?' she queried breathlessly, trying not to picture such a scenario.
'Just two well-thrashed cheeks and you get to continue working for me,' Miss Breeson confirmed.
Linda knew that she really needed this evening job. It had lifted her out of debt and was indeed now providing luxuries. And how many people got paid to live in wonderful Tudor-style houses filled with intricate antiques?
'Alright,' she said in a dazed small voice. The
n she quivered as the stronger woman rolled both her sleeves up and pulled Linda over her dauntingly muscular knee.
For a few moments she lay there breathing heavily as her employer told her how bad she'd been and stroked her dress-sheathed buttocks.
'I'd like you to answer "Yes Ma'am" when appropriate,' Miss Breeson added sternly.
'Yes, Ma'am,' Linda muttered, gritting her teeth with humiliation. Her face burned at the thought of the spanking which was to ensue.
Miss Breeson was obviously thinking of the spanking too. Leastways she said 'Let's lift this skirt up.' Linda closed her eyes more tightly as she felt the lower half of her dress being lifted away from her bottom and thighs. It was a warm August night so she wasn't wearing any stockings. Now all that there was between this woman's hard palm and her own soft bum was her lace-edged flimsy pants. 'After the skirt goes up, the pants come down,' the older woman continued matter of factly. The twenty-five year old skulked ashamedly on her tummy as she felt her briefs being dragged down her thighs.
'Mmm, quite a spankable looking spread,' Miss Breeson continued, hoisting Linda's backside more firmly onto her lap. 'It's small, but those little round cheeks are nicely fleshy in the centre.' She fondled both spheres as she spoke, and Linda groaned. 'Ask me to spank this bum hard if you value your employment,' the forty-something woman continued. Linda forced out the words then moaned some more. An hour ago she'd been laughing and dancing at a club - now she was across this woman's lap with a totally bare bottom. Her only consolation was that no one else could see.
But she herself could certainly feel. She gasped as a heavy palm lashed down on one fair cheek. She was just recovering her breath when the woman smacked her other pale round buttock. Linda automatically reached her hands back to protect herself as the woman started up a veritable tattoo.
'Ah, ow, that hurts!' she muttered, trying to pull her employer's hands away. Those same hands caught her wrists and brought them together behind her back.
'I'd hoped that you'd be obedient,' Miss Breeson said softly, 'but as you're not I'll have to tie your naughty hands out of the way.'
'But that hurts my shoulders!' Linda protested as the woman started to wind something round both wrists, thus imprisoning her hands above her buttocks.
'I'll tie your hands in front then,' the older woman said conversationally. 'The only thing I want to hurt is your bum.'
She half-lifted Linda and set her on the floor, then took hold of her arms and tied them loosely before her. 'That's better,' she said with obvious satisfaction. 'Now we won't have any little fingers trying to shield those naughty globes.'
'Please don't make the other spanks so hard,' Linda pleaded piteously as her boss hauled her over her firm knee again. Her rotundities trembled.
'When you've failed in your work duties and potentially brought my firm into disrepute? I have to make the remaining spanks very harsh indeed.'
Miss Breeson raised her palm. Linda buried her face in the leather couch. She wished that her bum wasn't such a vulnerable target. She howled as her employer began to whack alternate buttocks again. 'Oh please,' she spluttered, writhing helplessly on her silken belly. She kicked the little she could with her equally bare slim legs. Why didn't Miss Breeson fondle her breasts or peak at her blonde-haired pudenda? Why was she so obsessed with heating her disarmed writhing bum? Linda moved her hips from side to side. She pressed her belly into the ungiving lap beneath her. She tried to pull in her buttock muscles to make each cheek a smaller target, but to no avail.
Then suddenly Miss Breeson stopped. 'I think this arse and I should have a little chat,' she said coolly.
Linda nodded, then uttered a belated 'Whatever you want.'
'Is the arse sorry that it left its post without permission?' the older woman murmured.
'Oh yes, Ma'am,' Linda said. She searched for the words which would grant her release from her supine state. 'This bad bum is truly humbled and will never again leave a house it's supposed to guard.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' Miss Breeson said matter of factly. 'Now we just have to punish it for its earlier lies.'
Linda felt her heart sink. Her reddened hemispheres jerked of their own volition. They were already invested with a rosy glow.
'What lies did I tell, Ma'am?' she whispered raggedly.
'That arse lied about having a headache,' her employer retorted, 'when in truth it went to a nearby club.'
'You watched me?' Linda asked weakly, knowing that her bottom was in for a further warming.
'Of course I did. We at Model Tenants have to keep a firm eye on our trainees,' the dominant woman replied. She reached for a plump cushion and pushed it under the younger girl's lower tum. 'Let's get that backside raised to its very utmost.'
'Please have mercy,' Linda whispered, puckering up her anguished flesh.
But her boss seemed to have a pre-determined number of spanks in mind. Leastways she whacked at Linda's lower curves and at her middle cheeks, ignoring her gasped-out promises that she would do better. She spanked the dark divide of the girl's posterior. She smacked the delicate fold at her nether thighs.
'I'll do anything, Ma'am,' the failed house sitter whimpered, tensing and untensing her smarting bare bottom.
'Do you mean that, girl?' the older woman replied.
She stayed her hand. Linda's brain raced with scenes. If she pleasured her boss she might get extra weekend shifts and become her favourite. And it was probably as easy to rub another women to orgasm as it was a man.
'Yes, Ma'am, I long to please you,' she said gutturally. Then she whimpered with relief as she was hoisted from her boss's imprisoning lap.
Linda stayed crouched on the floor waiting for her employer to untie her hands. Instead, Miss Breeson just pulled off her own jeans and briefs then opened her strong legs widely.
'Lick thoroughly, dear,' she said.
Linda stared at the pinkish-brown folds of skin. The woman's labia was darker than her own, the lips longer. Her clitoris was peeking from its hood. 'I've never...' she admitted faintly, rocking back on her heels.
'I hope that you're not reneging on your word? You said that you wanted to please me,' the forty-something woman murmured. She reached forward and squeezed the younger girl's tenderised spheres. Linda gasped at the pain and jiggled about on the carpet, then she put her open wet mouth to her employer's oiled flesh...
For the next few weeks the Model Tenants agency had a model house sitter who turned up for work early and who never went out. She earned herself extra shifts until she was house-sitting every spare moment. It was lucrative. It was uncomplex. Until she met Nick.
Nick looked and smelt like one of those tanned muscular men in an aftershave ad. He sat next to Linda at the bar and desire traced its paths through her wanton flesh. After a double gin she made it clear that she was a single girl in search of communal pleasure. They danced and flirted all night.
'Let me take you to dinner on Saturday,' he suggested at the end of the evening as he called her a cab.
'I'd love to, but I'm house sitting,' Linda murmured.
'Next week then, please?' he pressed. She loved the fact that he cared enough to pursue her - but she was house-sitting the next week and the next. 'In that case,' Nick continued, 'why don't I come to you? I'll order from that Home Comforts place in the high street. They supply the champagne, the crockery and the meals.'
'Sounds idyllic,' Linda said. In truth house sitters weren't supposed to have guests on the premises. But no one would ever know.
He came. He stayed. She was deliciously conquered. She could still feel the memory of his manhood inside her when she opened the door to Miss Breeson the next day.
'You broke the rules by entertaining here,' the older woman said.
Linda swallowed hard, but knew better than to deny it. 'I've known him for years,' she lied. 'He brought us both a meal.'
'He also took a Victorian jewellery box belonging to the lady of the house,' Miss Breeson informed her.
'He wouldn't do that. He was so nice,' Linda said, her voice rising to something resembling a wail. She realised belatedly that con men had to be nice in order to fool people. Maybe he'd even known that she was a house-sitter and had followed her to the club?
She was still musing over the situation when Miss Breeson marched into the lounge and turned on the security tape. The film showed Nick sneaking into the house's dressing room at 3am and taking the jewellery box.
'I assume that he was gone when you got up?' Miss Breeson asked.
'Well, yes,' Linda muttered, still unable to believe that she'd been duped so easily, 'but he left a note saying that he would phone me tonight.'
'The police picked him up as he left here. The only phone call he'll be making is to his solicitor,' the older woman said abruptly. She sighed. 'It's lucky that the guard in Head Office was reviewing all the in-progress tapes and saw Nick actually stealing the valuables. Otherwise he'd have gotten well away.'
Linda knew when she was beaten - or when she was about to be. 'Are you going to spank me again, Ma'am?' she asked in what she hoped was a seductive little voice.
Her boss shook her head. 'The spanking obviously wasn't severe enough so I'm going to have to cane you. Be at the training hall for 8pm.'
At 6pm Linda had a bath. By 7pm she'd eaten a light meal and put on her tightest blue jeans and a classic white polo shirt. She wanted to look neat yet casual. She wanted the thick denim to protect her bottom if her boss chose to cane her over her jeans. The younger girl feared the prospect of the rod lashing down on her helpless buttocks, but she was endlessly grateful that Miss Breeson hadn't handed her over to the police. After all, she'd let a virtual stranger into a house filled with near-priceless belongings. They might consider her an accessory to the crime.
Crime led to punishment. So be it. Determined to accept her caning with good grace, Linda drove nervously to the spacious training hall where Model Tenants Incorporated trained its employees. She was very aware of her small hips pushing into the car's driving seat. Would she soon need a cushion under these same haunches? An ex-boyfriend had been caned at public school, and he'd said that it cut like hell...
