I love poetry, though I hate writing poems. It is not a genre that I feel really comfortable with. But, I was asked to contribute a little poetry to forum, of the two I did, this is probably the most readable, so I thought I would post it here also.
From Kansas to the land of Oz,
Dorothy's house did descend,
Causing chaos on that land,
As the witches life did end,
Ding-dong went the church bells,
At this evil witches fate,
All laughing now in streets of Oz,
This was a time to celebrate,
But that evil witch had a sister,
A one who lived out west,
And when it came to mercy,
Of this she was not blessed,
And when Dorothy took her slippers,
Revenge on her she did avow,
The journey to the wizard,
She knew she could not allow,
A horde of flying monkeys,
The witch she now did send,
But she did underestimate,
Dorothy and her friends,
So in the Haunted Forest,
The monkeys were repelled,
Our heroes journey continued,
As their ambush it was quelled,
When they reach the castle walls,
The film it goes astray,
For what it shows on celluloid,
Was not what happened that day,
The witch you see she had a broom,
But Dorothy had a brush,
Hard wooden backed and broad.
Would make any bottom blush,
The Scarecrow grabs the witches arm,
Over Dorothy's lap she does end,
Her black dress is lifted,
Her panties now descend,
Dorothy's brush lands very hard,
The witches eyes do blur,
Seeing the witches rosy tail,
Made the Cowardly Lion purr,
As she kicked and cried,
With her skinny legs askew,
Anyone who cared to look,
Would have a mighty view,
Her female charms clearly shown,
As she pleaded out for clemency,
Dorothy though was not perturbed,
As she tanned her splendidly,
When Dorothy finished with the witch,
She left her cowed and glum,
All the pain and shame she felt,
Was mainly in her bum!
Saturday, 4 April 2015
OK, I'm pretty sure that most people are familiar with L P Hartley's quote; “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”.
Well, it is not just a great quote, but, it is also a fact. So, when reading this story don't look upon me as being some stupid girl, remember that the past is indeed a foreign country.
It was 1971, I was eighteen and a half years old, and madly in love with my boyfriend, Joe. Now, when I say madly, it is up to you to decide just how mad I was.
I had left school at the age of fifteen, with no academic qualifications, though that does not mean that I was thick in any way. I was well versed in the three “R's” of; reading, writing, and arithmetic. I would actually suggest that whoever decided to call those subjects the three “R's” were themselves dyslexic. Though, of course, dyslexia was unheard of in those days, as was ADHD, you had thick kids, naughty kids, and problem teens, such was the enlightenment of the day.
Joe and I were planning to get married; he was working as an apprentice welder at a local engineering firm. Apprentices were paid notoriously bad wages till they “came out of their time”, I, on the other hand, was getting quite a good wage as a machine operator in a textiles firm. So, out of the two of us, I was, at least for the time being, the major breadwinner. As such, it was, for the most part, my wages that were squirreled away for savings.
It meant that I could not now buy the records and clothes that I had gotten used to since leaving school. Joe, for his part, cut down on his nights out with his mates. With our now strict saving plans, we tended to spend most nights just playing music in my bedroom.
My parents though kept me to a strict, one foot on the floor rule, so there was no cavorting, or at least very little cavorting on my bed.
As I said earlier, we are looking back to a time when things were done differently. Virgin weddings were still, despite the influence of the Swinging Sixties, more the rule, than the exception.
However, even with managing to save between five to seven pounds a week, our savings were still very meagre. There always seemed to be something cropping up that would eat into “our money”. Whether it was an away football match that Joe had to go to or some tools that he needed to buy for his work. It appeared “our money” just didn't seem able to stay in our joint Post Office savings account.
Then a new night club opened up in the centre of town. Night clubs in the early 1970's were a different kettle of fish as they are today. They tended to be, at least, for the most part, more than just late night drinking dens frequented by late teens and people in their early twenties, as they are now.
Night clubs in those days, featured live entertainment and gambling, not just drinking, dancing and fighting.
When I saw that they were advertising for Bunny Girl hostesses, I though that could be the way to boost our meagre savings. Also, I thought that such an idea would meet certain obstacles, not least from my parents and boyfriend. I decided I would test the waters with the latter first.
“Joe, I've been thinking,” I said one night as we sat together on my bedroom floor, listening to Led Zeppelin's last album.
“Yeah, what about pet?”
“About getting a part time job,” I replied as Robert Plant sang about a land of ice and snow.
“What? On top of your job at the factory?” Joe asked, with a look of curiosity now on his previously blank face.
“Well, that new nightclub is looking for staff.”
“I can't see you working behind a bar Sue, not really your thing is it?”
“No, not working behind the bar,” I said, working up the nerve to explain my plan, “being a Bunny Girl!” I finally managed to get out.
“Really?” He said grinning at me, cleary imagining me in the outfit. He seemed amused by the idea of me wearing the very costume that I had somehow thought he would forbid me to wear.
“Well, it would only be a Friday and Saturday night, and the money would come in handy.”
He sat, deep in thought, I was sure he would not allow me to flaunt myself in such a manner. I could see that he was weighing something up in his mind, and then he finally spoke.
“I suppose it's not a bad idea. I'm always out with the lads on a Friday anyway, and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find a way to fill in my time on a Saturday. Sounds like a great idea to me, go for it lass!”
It was odd, his acceptance was a double edged sword, I wanted the job, and we really needed the money. But, I also wanted him to show some kind of reluctance to me getting the job. I think I wanted him to show at least a little jealousy of other men leering at me. But, all that he seemed concerned about was how it would impact his social life.
My parents were a different story.
My mother hated the idea; she had some mad notion that I would be lured into the world of “white slavery” that was so often reported on in the Sunday papers. My dad was a little more pragmatic, seeing how the extra money would come in handy for our savings. Moreso, after I had spoken to him about his little stash of Playboy magazines that he kept in his garden shed.
“Dad, I know you are a fan of Bunny Girls, and they are all somebodies daughters,” I whispered to him, when my mam was out of earshot.
Of course, with dad now onside, my mother capitulated. That was just the way of things in those days.
The first couple of months were fantastic, once I got over my initial nerves about being in almost a state of undress all evening. I talked myself into thinking that I would be showing a lot more on a beach, as my uniform, skimpy as it was, still covered way more flesh than by bikini would.
The pay was good, in fact, the pay was very good, once you included the tips. I was earning almost as much, working twelve hours at the weekend, as I did working forty hours in the factory. Just, for being little more than a glorified waitress.
Also, without seeming arrogant, I knew I had the face and the figure to carry off the uniform, and the required smile to garner extra tips.
As it turned out, it was those very tips that almost became my downfall. It was standard practice that we all pooled our tips, and then split them up equally among us. However, one of the other hostesses decided that she would skim her tips and keep them to herself. I watched as she put two pound notes that she had received from a customer into her bra, instead of putting them in the communal jar.
I told Joe about what Cynthia had been doing; he was furious that she was, in his eyes, stealing our money. He was also angry with me for allowing her to walk all over me in such a manner.
“You have to learn how to stand up for yourself, don't let people walk all over you!” He told me.
I did not have to be told twice, as back then I was quite a feisty girl and did not like Joe to think that I was easy to walk over.
I waited, on that fateful Saturday night, till the club had closed, and we were all in the staff changing room, to confront Cynthia.
I was fully dressed, she had her jeans on, but was about to pick up her blouse, when I said.
“Do you not want to check your bra, just in case any money has fallen in there?”
“What?...Are, for fucks sake Sue, give it a rest will you. It's been a long night, and I can't be bothered with any shit from you!” She replied, her blue eyes glaring at me.
“I saw you last night, trying to gyp us all, slipping them notes down your tits, when you thought no one was looking.”
“You don't know what you are talking about, as usual, and I just can't be bothered with explaining myself to some scrawny little bitch!”
That was it. The red mist descended, and I threw myself at her, grabbing a handful of her blond hair as we both fell to the floor.
My left hand gripped her right hand, as I manoeuvred myself over her body pinning her left arm to the floor with my knee. I raised my right hand, which was now formed into a fist, just as I was about to punch her; I felt arms around my torso. The next thing I knew I was in mid-air, my limbs flailing like a badly controlled marionette, then I heard a voice booming in my ears.
“What the hell is going on here?” Asked Mr. Burton, the club owner, and my boss.
“She was stealing tips!” I replied as I was ignominiously dumped onto the floor about five feet away from Cynthia.
“No, I wasn't you idiot!” Shouted, the now bare breasted Cynthia, her bra having come loose in our fracas.
“I haven't got time to sort this out tonight; I want to see you both here tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp!” Mr. Burton said, the tone of his voice making it clear that this was not a request, but an order. “Now both of you get dressed, and get home.”
I can still recall, how hard sleep was to find that night when I got home. I lay in bed thinking about the next day; it was clear in my mind that Mr. Burton would sack me. I had deep feelings of resentment about the whole affair, after all if Cynthia had not been a thieving cow, the bust up would not have happened in the first place.
The next morning I had to lie to my mother, saying that I had been asked to go into work to help with a stock check. She was not happy about having to make a late Sunday dinner, dad on the other hand was quite happy, as it meant an extra hour in the pub for him.
I made the short walk from home to the club with leaden feet. It even crossed my mind to not go at all, but then I would not get my wages that were due to me. I had to face up to the fact; I could not get out of seeing Mr. Burton, and also the queen bitch Cynthia if I wanted to get the money due to me.
When I got to the club, Cynthia was already in Mr. Burton's office, and to my surprise she was looking very sheepish. In fact, she looked to be virtually on the edge of tears, standing in front of Mr. Burton's Desk. I gathered, wrongly, that she was also to be sacked.
“Good morning Susan,” Mr. Burton cheerfully greeted me. “I have had a little chat with Cynthia about last night's misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? You mean her being a thieving little magpie, more like!” I said in perhaps a rather too sharp manner.
Mr. Burton sighed deeply, then delivered Cynthia's explanation in a calm, almost fatherly tone. It would seem, that the customer who had given her the two pounds was actually her uncle. He had been asked by Cynthia's father to pop in and see her, and give her some money so she could get a taxi home.
I didn't know it, as myself and Cynthia had talked very little to each other, Cynthia lived out in the countryside, and her father always picked her up after work.
Cynthia's father was an engineer, and he had been called into his workplace because of some machinery malfunction, so could not collect her that Friday evening.
As Mr. Burton's soft even voice continued, I just felt regret at my stupidity.
“So, as you see Susan, it was indeed a misunderstanding wasn't it?”
“Yes sir,” I said, now feeling as sheepish as Cynthia looked, also wondering why I had called him sir, something I had never done before.
“But, ladies you have both put me in a bit of a pickle. I can't allow my staff to brawl or to allow such brawling to go unpunished. After all, my customers don't come here to see two hot cross bunnies fighting, now do they?”
Both Cynthia and I gave Mr. Burton's weak joke an equally weak laugh.
“Having said that,” He continued, “some of them may find it entertaining. That though is of no concern to us. I have already spoken to Cynthia, and she agrees that she was partly to blame for the fight. As she could have just told you about the reason for her receiving the money, and then the fight would never have happened.
She also sees my point of view, that I cannot be seen to condone such behaviour or to let it go unpunished.”
I now realised that was the second time he had said unpunished.
“We had a little discussion before you arrived Susan Cynthia agrees, that rather than being dismissed, she would take a spanking from me this morning, and then the matter would be done with.”
“What?” I said, not believing what I was hearing.
“She has agreed to take chastisement from me, as she understands her part in the whole debacle. So, in fairness, I am going to give you the same option.” Mr. Burton said, a faint smile now forming as he awaited my reply. “Susan, because it was you who initiated the violence after you have both been spanked, you shall also receive a caning!”
Now, despite what you may have read about the nineteen seventies, and the corporal punishment of schoolgirls. It was nowhere near as rife as the spanking stories and films would have you believe. Sure, it happened, but it was rare compared to the corporal punishment of boys. In fact, I went through all of secondary school without being slippered, strapped, or caned. The only thing that happened to me was three whacks on the palm of my left hand with a wooden rule for passing notes class.
The cane was something I had no real comprehension of, nor was it something that I wanted to familiarise myself with.
“How many with the cane?” I asked, the words coming out before I could stop myself.
“Six of the best, I think that would be more than fair, don't you?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, my eyes now downcast on to the floor to avoid his gaze.
“Right, let's get this over and done with shall we,” Mr. Burton said, rising from his seat behind the desk, and clapping his palms together by way of punctuating his sentence.
He then explained the running order, as he pulled a chair into the centre of his office. Cynthia would be spanked first; then I would receive my spanking. After my spanking, Cynthia would be allowed to leave before my caning, to save me from the added embarrassment of having a witness.
Mr. Burton then sat on the chair and motioned for Cynthia to stand by his side. Cynthia was dressed in a similar manner to myself; we were both wearing jeans, sweatshirts, and low platform shoes.
I was stunned, when Mr. Burton's hands went to the waistband of Cynthia's jeans, and he started to unbutton them.
However, if I was stunned, Cynthia was mortified as she struggled away from him.
“Mr. Burton, what on earth do you think you are doing?” she said, in a panic filled voice.
“Those brass buttons on your back pockets are going to hurt my hand long before I manage to tan your bum,” Mr. Burton replied emphatically, “your jeans are going to have to come down young lady!”
I could tell by the look in his eyes, that despite the lack of buttons on my Wranglers, my jeans would also be making a downward journey, when it was my turn.
“This isn't right...” Cynthia said sulkily, as Mr. Burton unbuttoned and then unzipped her jeans, pulling them down to her knees.
An odd thought crossed my mind, “will he pull down her knickers as well?”, that thought was both horrific and slightly enticing in almost equal measure.
“Over you go!” He said, waving his hand over his lap, answering my unsaid question.
Cynthia's knickers were staying in place after all. My mind was now all of a jumble; I was almost disappointed that this was not going to be a bare bottom spanking. Of course, if it had been, logically it would have meant mine would have to be also.
The whole proceeding was now bringing thoughts that I had always tried to ignore, tried to force to the back of my mind. Those very hidden thoughts were now at the very front of my mind, fantasies that I would never dare to mention, were about to be acted out in front of me. I held my breath as I waited for Mr. Burton's palm to go into action across Cynthia's pale blue knickers. I did not have to wait long for the noise of the first slap to ring around the office. I watched in morbid fascination as his hand relentlessly came down upon her knickered bottom.
The sound of her pleas seemed to be deaf to his ears, those same sounds though, were music to my ears. I watched on, my mind a tumult of emotions; I wished to see her punished though I also wanted for her punishment to end so that mine could begin!
It was madness; it was a delicious madness. Finally after all of those daydreams, and sneaking little looks at my father's secret magazine stash. I was now going to feel the hand of dominant male across my bottom. I was going to have my deepest, darkest fantasy fulfilled, and I was terrified and intrigued of it becoming a reality.
Cynthia's vigorous spanking finally came to a close. Mr.Burton helped my now tearful nemesis back to her feet. She made an attempt to pull her jeans back up, to cover her evidently reddened bottom and thighs.
“No, leave those where the are...” Mr. Burton said, in his still calm voice, “change places with Susan.”
We both obeyed, as we passed each other; I could see her tears tracing their path down her face. Her mascara had run leaving her with the worst “Panda Eyes” I had ever seen. I knew in a few minutes time that I would be in a similar state.
As I stood next to Mr. Burton's chair, our eyes made contact, his blue eyes sparkled in gleeful expectation. I moved my arms, crossing them behind my back; he gave me a knowing smile, as he reached for the waistband of my denim trousers.
“As with Cynthia, these will need to come down. I don't want to be seen to be favouring either of you, that is only fair isn't it Susan?”
“Yes sir,” I managed to whisper, my mouth now as dry as sandpaper.
“Of course it's fair.” He said lowering my jeans to reveal my white rose patterned knickers.
“A lovely choice of knickers Susan!” He said, evidently triumphal with his discovery.
“Thank you, sir...” I replied, then wished for the floor to swallow me up, such seemed the stupidity of my answer in the circumstances.
As with Cynthia, he waved his hand over his lap by way of invitation for me. As I lowered myself over his thighs, a question crossed my mind, something I should have picked upon earlier.
Why does Mr. Burton own a cane?
Of course the answer came to me straight away, he was not as I had thought earlier, just a middle-aged guy with a thing about knickers. He was into corporal punishment; he was a kindred spirit, a soulmate. He was the sour to my sweet, the fire to my ice!
Then Mr. Burton's hard palm brought me out of my daydreaming. The spanking, he then started to deliver, was indeed like fire upon my bottom. It only took some thirty slaps or so until I felt distinctly uncomfortable. After what was probably only two minutes or so, my bottom and the tops of my thighs, felt as if they were on fire.
As that heat built up, my eyes were starting to fog over, I knew that tears were not far off. I did not call out pleas and protestations as Cynthia had earlier, for I needed and yearned for the release that this castigation would bring me.
I was actually on the verge of orgasm, something that never happened to me other than when I frigged myself off, when he stopped spanking me. His hand rested on my bottom as he spoke.
“You took that very well Susan, I know you will not think it, but I did you a favour by spanking you before the caning you. The cane hurts much more on a cold target, and as I can feel, even through your charming knickers, your bottom is now anything but cold.”
Those sentences revealed to me something I had been pondering over. Would the cane be on my hands, or on my bum? Evidently it would be on my bottom.
As Mr. Burton helped me up, he spoke to the still traumatised Cynthia.
“Cynthia, I believe that you will agree that Susan's spanking was just as severe, or perhaps even a little worse than yours?”
“Yes sir...” she said and nodded, her face that of vacant possession.
“Right, you may go now Cynthia.”
Her rush to re-arrange her clothing and get out of the building was comical. She did not even stop to go to the Ladies and wash her Panda Eyed face.
“So then, Susan,” Mr. Burton said as he unlocked a cupboard behind his desk, retrieving a thin yellow cane, “have you ever been caned before?”
“No sir, never,” I replied, trying and failing to sound calm.
“Well, it is an entirely different sensation to that of a spanking, let me assure you of that.”
I looked Mr. Burton in the eye and nodded. All of a sudden, since going over his lap, I viewed my boss in a different light. Whereas before, he was just some middle-aged bloke. Now, he was the mature dominant gentleman of my fantasies.
And, going by the look in his eye, he seemed to be well aware of my feelings.
“Susan, take off your shoes and jeans, please?”
“What!” I replied, in genuine shock.
“Really there is no need for me to repeat the request, we both know you heard me clear enough!”
Of course, he was correct, and his voice made it clear that it was not a request that was open for negotiation. As I untied my shoelaces, my fingers trembled, not with fear, but with the excitement of what may be to come. I took off my jeans, folded them nicely, and placed them on the floor next to my shoes.
“As pretty as they are, your knickers too will have to come off.”
I did not argue, I did, however, feel a rush of adrenaline trickle down my spine.Fight or flight could not have been further from my mind as I placed my knickers on top of my jeans.
“Let's have a little look at you Susan, hands on top of your head, please.”
Mr. Burton slowly walked around me, as if I were some fascinating statue in a museum.
“You know I have to cane you, don't you Susan?”
“You also know that it will hurt incredibly?”
“You actually want to experience that pain, don't you Susan?”
Now, I could hardly get my mouth to form words. Least of all, words that would make me admit to my kink. So, I just nodded.
“Over the desk please, grab the other side of the desk tight and do not rise...”
I obeyed him without question.
“Legs a little further apart, please...”
He instructed, tapping my inner thighs with the cane till my legs were splayed to his liking.
“We shall begin now...” He said tapping my bared bottom three times with the cane.
Then the first stroke struck, searing into my already hot flesh, despite my plans to be silent, I howled out in pain.
“I told you it would hurt...” He said, his hand caressing my burning nates, a caress a longed to feel more of.
The second and third stroke were as bad as the first, in fact, they were worse, as I did not get to feel his hand on between those strokes. By the time he delivered the last three, I was a bubbling wreck, crying like a little girl.
He put the cane down on the desk next to my face, no doubt to so that I could see the instrument of my correction.
His hand returned to my rear, massaging and soothing the area, where only seconds before he had been inflicting pain onto. His fingers drifted lower, teasing at the folds of my virgin quim, gently dipping into the wetness; then he traced up to my little button.
No sooner, had he started to manipulate my clit, than to my shock, I came to a juddering climax!
“It would seem that has been building up inside you for a while Susan?”
“Yes sir...thank you sir!” I replied.
I then felt the head of his cock at the lips of my fanny.
“I'm still a virgin sir...” I said, more to inform him than to stop him.
“I'll be gentle...” He said, as he slowly entered me, taking my maidenhead as he did so.
Post Script. After this session, myself and Mr. Burton became “a secret thing” for about eighteen months. During those eighteen months; I split up with Joe, left my job in the factory and went to tech college to get some qualifications. They say, never look back. But, sometimes it is nice to re-visit a foreign country where things are done differently.
Saturday, 21 March 2015
“Stay exactly where you are miss Nichols,” Heather ordered, “hands upon your head until you're told otherwise. I'm sorry I neglected to inform you that Mr Morson would be joining us this morning.”
Yes, for all that Ralph Morson's arrival was a shock for Michaela, it had been throughly expected by Heather. In fact, she had been watching his approach as he entered her small garden from the hotel's main grounds.
She noticed today he had returned to his earlier smart but casual look; brown corduroy trousers, and a thick green woolen cardigan over a collarless white shirt. She also noticed a distinct spring in his step.
The previous evening, after Michaela had been sent home, Heather had made her move upon him. First though, she needed to find out more about her intended target. As time was of the essence, she did not have the wiggle room for some elaborate plan, she simply Googled his name and address.
Within a matter of about five clicks, Heather had ascertained that Mr. Morson was a lawyer, and of late, also, a lay preacher. That latter bit of information lead the cynical side of Heather's nature to suspect that he was planning to run for public office.
Clearly a preacher with political ambitions would be the last person you would expect to be involved in any sexual “jiggery-pokery”. Equally, a preacher with political ambitions would be likely to be the first person to leap at the chance of sexual “jiggery-pokery”. Moreso, in a foreign country, with the lesser chance of any scandal becoming public knowledge.
All Heather had to do was wait until Mr Morson came back to the bar, till he entered her web. She did not have long to wait.
“Mr Morson,” Heather almost whispered as Julie was pouring out his round of drinks. “it would appear we seem to have very similar tastes?”
“Really Ma'am, in what way would that be?”
“Let's just say, that if either of us were ordering ice cream, neither would order vanilla.”Heather whispered, her eyes glistening with the mixture of wine and lust. “Would I be right in that thinking?”
“Yes, you would indeed be right in that thinking.” Ralph replied, “I kinda gathered that from our little time back there in the office...I could see you were rather entranced.”
Without saying anything further, Heather handed Ralph Morson the note she had written out while she was waiting at the bar. He quickly read it, and like Heather, no further words were passed, he merely nodded.
With that little nod, to Heather's mind, Michaela's fate had been sealed.
“Good morning Mr Morson, you are quite early?” Heather said as she opened the door.
“I am a great believer in the saying, to be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late and to be late is just unacceptable. So, you will rarely find me late for an appointment. Especially an appointment as mysterious as this one.” Ralph replied, then added. “I must say that you are looking quite splendid today!”
Today, Heather Moore was indeed looking splendid, if not just a tad overdressed for a Thursday morning sitting around her house.
Her short blond hair was today worn in a manner that looked unkept, though, of course, not a hair was out of place. Her makeup looked natural, the hardest of looks to attain, like last night her brown eyes were glistening, today though no wine was needed to give her eyes that seductive glint.
Her short linen white dress had three triangular cutouts; the centre one showing off more than a hint of her cleavage. Her push up quarter cup bra showed off her hard nipples against the thin material of her dress. The two outer cuts were giving a hint of her muscular though still feminine, shoulders.
Her crimson red stiletto heels gave Heather the height advantage over her American guest.
“Yes Ma'am, you are looking quite stunning, I feel rather underdressed,” Ralph said as he entered the living room, then his eyes fell upon the half naked Michaela.
“I'm sorry...what exactly is going on here?” Ralph said in clear surprise at the view that greeted him.
Heather was more than a little taken aback by Ralph's reaction. “When we spoke last night...of shared interests....”
“I'm sorry, but you seem to have misunderstood or at least misread me,” Ralph said as he walked over to the now visibly shaking Michaela.
He lightly touched her shoulder, for her to turn around. Michaela did so, her hands still upon her head. Instead of drinking in the view of the half-naked bar manager, Ralph engaged steady eye contact with her.
“Would I be correct young lady in assuming that you have been somewhat coerced into this situation?” He asked, his voice little more than a gentle whisper.
As Michaela nodded, a lone tear ran down her cheek, Ralph reached out and lightly dabbed it away with his finger.
“Please, take your hands down from your head,” Ralph said.
Michaela did as requested; her hands automatically going to cover up her frontal nakedness.
“Oh please, don't hide yourself in such away. The Lord did not bless you with such charms, for you to hide them away in shame. You should be like Eve before The Fall, proud of you natural beauty, not running to hide your bareness!” Saying that, Ralph took Michaela's hands and placed them on the sides of her hips. As he did so, for the first time since arriving at Heather's house, Michaela smiled.
“You see miss Moore, you have served me a great injustice, clearly we both do have not dissimilar tastes. However, I do not believe in coercion as a rule, I prefer willing participants. Also, I consider myself to be somewhat of an artist, and as such I like to paint upon a blank canvas, I take it you understand what I mean?”
Heather did understand. Also, she was aware of his courtroom nuances and wordplay. She understood enough to know where Ralph Morson was planning to take this.
Ralph then noticed the paddle and the crop on the table.
“I take it these are the instruments that miss Moore used upon you?” He asked Michaela, gesturing to the table.
“No, she used the paddle thingy, not the whip. She spanked me first; then she hit me with a shoe..” Michaela said then theatrically burst into a new bout of sobbing.
“A shoe?” Ralph asked Heather, trying hard not to laugh.
“It was one of her trainers!” Heather sighed out in exasperation.
“Ah, yes I see. The English love of the gym slipper is still alive and well, I thought that was just a flight of fancy in porn films and books?”
“Clearly not!” Again Heather sighed, seeing that she or at least Ralph Morson was painting her into a corner.
“So, this young lady has been; spanked, slippered and paddled this morning?”
“Yes, that is right, she chose to take my punishment rather than lose her job,” Heather replied, resigned to what she was certain, was now going to be her own fate.
“All of which was non-consensual?”
“No, it was her choice!”
“Her choice? You mean to say she requested upon her own volition or were they the only options put to her?”
Heather did not answer, instead, like Michaela less than an hour earlier, she merely stared at the floor in front of her.
“I take it by your silence, that those were the options given to her. Very much a 'Sophie's Choice', would you not say? In fact, it almost smells of blackmail!”
“Whatever!” Heather grunted, becoming annoyed at Ralph's continuing use of legalese.
“Perhaps you should feel some discipline on the same level, after all, I'm sure this young lady would have some available legal recourse should she choose to take it?”
“No, no, no way! That is not my thing at all!” Heather said as she heard the very thing that she had been expecting to hear.
“Well, it would appear that it wasn't this young lady's thing either,” Ralph replied calmly, then turned to Michaela, and said. “Spankings I take it are not 'your thing'?”
Michaela shook her head in the negative.
“So, miss Moore, where do we go from here?” Ralph asked Heather.
Heather was in an emotional turmoil; it was right spankings were a large part of her life. However, she was always the top; she was always the spanker, never the spankee. She knew of many people who were “switches”, happy to be in either role, but that was not her.
Being on the receiving end of a spanking was something not ever in her mindset. She knew though that that was becoming now almost inevitable; this was a situation that had gone spectacularly wrong.
“Michaela will have to leave before you spank me!” Heather said, finally breaking her stony silence.
“Motion denied!” Ralph said, in an overly joyful manner, and added. “Do you know ladies, as a lawyer how I have longed to have a chance to say that phrase?”
“It would not be right for her to be here, she is my employee...it's just not right...” Heather said, the desperation clearly audible in her voice.
“Well, perhaps you could look upon it as a team bonding exercise? The young lady stays!” Ralph said emphatically.
Slowly Heather nodded, if nothing else, she was pragmatic and knew when she was fighting a lost cause. For her now, it was just a case of taking whatever Ralph Morson was going to throw at her. Taking it, with all the dignity that she could muster.
“I take it young lady,” Ralph said looking at Michaela, “that you were spanked over your jeans first?”
“No, she took down my jeans and knickers, she said a spanking was only a spanking when its on the bare bottom,” Michaela replied sullenly.
“Tut-tut, such impatience miss Moore!” Ralph said grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Perhaps Michaela, you would like to help miss Moore out of her dress.”
She did not have to be asked twice, she marched straight over to Heather, seemingly now unaware of her own semi-nakedness.
“I am quite capable of removing my own dress!” Heather said her temper now showing.
“Of course you are miss Moore,” Ralph said, his face now holding a beaming smile, “but we both know, that is not the point. Don't we?”
Heather did not answer the question, she knew it rhetorical. She also knew that Ralph Morson would heap upon her any indignation he could think of. She had done the same when she had been in his position, and she had also seen it done by others, now though, she was the subject.
Though she was an unwilling subject, she did, however, know the role that she must play out.
So, when Michaela's fingers went to the hook and eye clasp at the back of her dress, Heather remained entirely passive.
She did not complain as she felt her zip being lowered.
She made no attempt to demure, as her dress fell towards the floor, rather, she stood straight, erect and proud.
“Such an enchanting vista,” Ralph said as he approached her, “such a voluptuous shape.” He added, as his hands ran down the sides of Heather's ribcage, then lower over her pinched abdomen, finally coming to rest upon her womanly hips. “You are truly quite the hour glass, aren't you?”
He then stepped back again, to give her one more magnifying glance.
“Well Michaela, my initial plan was to have you strip miss Moore completely naked. However, she looks so bewitching in her underwear it seems such a shame to spoil the appearance. Her delightful little blue bra can remain, as it holds her breasts and shows off her nipples so well.” Despite her best intentions, Heather could feel her face burning red at Ralph Morson's words. “Her hold up stockings can also remain, they make such a contrasting frame to the paleness of her flesh. I'm sorry to say miss Moore, your shoes have to go and to be equitable with your punishment of Michaela, those little blue panties will have to go also.” Ralph nodded to Michaela, who immediately set to work in removing Heather's aforementioned shoes and knickers.
On this occasion, of her further denuding, Heather's hands without thought went to cover her crotch.
“Oh my, such shy ladies we have today,” Ralph chuckled, “hands by your side miss Moore...in fact no, hands on your head, let's keep this traditional!”
With her face now aflame with rage as well as shame, Heather obeyed Ralph Morson's instructions.
“I see you prefer the shaven look over that of Michaela's enchanted forest miss Moore?”
Heather closed her eyes, rather than having to look at, or talk to Ralph Morson.
“Michaela, could you remind of the manner that your punishments took, please?” Ralph asked.
“First she spanked my bare bottom for ages; then she hit me with a shoe and then that paddle thing!” Michaela replied, pointing at the drilled ash paddle on the table.
“OK, how many times did she pop you with the paddle?”
“And, how many with your training shoe?”
“Well, I think the slipper is very ineffectual, so it will be eight with the paddle, rather than even bothering with the slipper,” Ralph said, pulling the chair back into the centre of the room.
“Time to begin miss Moore!” Ralph announced.
Heather now re-opened her eyes, waiting for further instructions; none was forthcoming.
“Where do you want me?” Heather finally asked breaking the deadlocked silence.
“Where ever is most comfortable for you,” Ralph cheerfully replied, “I am virtually ambidextrous, so it matters not which way you lay over my lap.”
Heather draped herself over his lap, making her bottom the target for his left hand. She did not have long to wait to feel that hand.
For no sooner than she was in place than she felt the first slaps across her bottom. The slaps came at an even cadence, they were not particularly harsh, but they were firm. In the matter of a minute or so, she could feel the heat building in her bottom, and then she heard Ralph's voice.
“So, Michaela is this the way she spanked you?”
“Yes sir...more or less, but I think she spanked me a little harder.”
“Lying fucking bitch, I was being gentle with her!” Heather thought to herself but did not utter those thoughts.
“Do you mean like this?” Ralph asked as he increased both his tempo and his velocity.
Heather then felt a staccato barrage of pain from Ralph's left hand.
“Yes sir, just like that!” Michaela said gleefully.
Heather, now felt the previous warmness turn to a stinging pain. A pain she was trying her hardest not to allow to register, or at least to seem as if the pain was not registering.
Of course this stubborn pride and stoicism; was only leading her into a longer and harder spanking.
However, rather than trying to “break” Heather, Ralph's intentions were only to get a uniform colouring, he wished for a beautiful rosy red bottom to paddle. After about five minutes of spanking, Ralph had his wish, and Heather's bottom was glowing red. Her nates were glowing red, and hot to the touch.
Ralph, surprisingly gently, helped Heather back to her feet, noticing that her hazel eyes now had a distinctly watery look to them.
Then Ralph also rose to his feet. “Michaela, I am about to give miss Moore eight pops of the paddle, and then as she did with you, she will then be given corner time to reflect upon today's decisions. I see no value to you staying just to observe miss Moore standing doing nothing. So, with that in mind, I think it would be best for you to leave after miss Moore's paddling. If you wish to get dressed now, then we can bring miss Moore's correction to a close.”
Ralph could not help but laugh, as he saw the look upon Michaela's face as she was reminded of her half-naked condition.
“Also, Michaela, I'm pretty confident that miss Moore will allow you tomorrow evening off work, so I can take you to dinner by way of an apology for today's misunderstandings!”
Once Michaela was fully dressed, Ralph pulled out another two dining chairs, putting two chairs next to each other about a foot apart, then the third to the rear of the other two. Michaela looked puzzled as to what was now taking place, Heather on the other hand understood thoroughly.
“A knee here and a knee here,” Ralph said, pointing at the chairs with the paddle, “your hands there please miss Moore!”
Heather got into the required position; she had no doubt as to the view that this ignominious pose would be offering to both Michaela and Ralph.
Any worries of modesty were soon taken from her mind as the paddle crashed upon her left buttock. She expected pain but not to this level, no sooner had the first pop landed than she felt the second hit her right buttock.
By the fifth pop, she was in tears, by the eighth she was regretting ever purchasing the damned paddle.
Again, as before, Ralph gently helped her back to her feet, and guided her to the place where he had earlier found the half-naked Michaela.
“Thirty minutes, and no touching your bottom, or we will start all over again, understand?” Ralph asked the tearful Heather, who nodded between her sobs.
Ralph then saw Michaela out, giving her a little goodbye peck upon her cheek.
Once Michaela had safely left the grounds of the cottage, Ralph headed towards Heathers kitchen, it only took him a couple of minutes to find what he was searching for.
“Miss Moore, I have changed my mind about you spending corner time. Instead, I would like you to go up to your room, place your pillows in the centre of the bed, and then lay across them, bottom-up nice and high.”
With a heavy heart, Heather made her way to her bedroom, taking this chance to give her bottom a sly soothing rub as she climbed the stairs.
Two minutes later Ralph followed her upstairs, entering the room he was rather taken aback by the decor, it was as if he was stepping back into Victorian times. Heather lay as instructed over the pillows on her huge four poster bed. Ralph quickly scanned the room's antique furniture, till his eyes rested upon a chest of drawers.
“I take it that on of those drawers is your underwear drawer?” Ralph asked then added. “Don't worry ma'am I am not on some weird middle-aged pantie raid, I ask for your comfort.”
“Second one down!” Heather replied through gritted teeth, no at all sure why she was continuing with this not so comical Comedy Of Errors.
It did not take long for Ralph to find what he was looking for, a thin pair of cotton boyshorts. He then sat on the bed, close to Heather's feet.
Then Heather felt a soothing coolness to her bottom.
“Is that good?” Ralph asked, as he gently moved the pack of frozen vegetables wrapped in her boyshorts across her still hot red flesh.
“Yes!” She gasped in the relief that the improvised cold compress was giving her.
Ralph continued moving the vegetables with his right hand while the fingers of he left hand sought out the lips of Heather's pussy.
“Is that also good?”
“Yes...oh God yes!”
Ralph then moved further onto the bed, undoing his trousers as he did so. His hands moved to Heather's hips, pulling her higher, the head of his cock nudging at the doorway to her sex. He pushed his hips forward; his shaft smoothly entering her wetness.
“Is this good?”
“Yes!” Heather answered, wondering how her plans had unraveled so badly, only to reach the very conclusion that she was hoping for.
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
Heather stood in the living room of her cottage though cottage was actually a misnomer. The building was the old gatehouse, going back to the time when the hotel was a manor house. When the manor was then converted to a hospital, the gatehouse and the drive from the gatehouse both became redundant. The small track was nowhere near capable of handling the extra traffic, so a larger driveway was made linking the hospital to the main road to its north.
The gatehouse then became an ad-hoc storage area for gardening equipment and decorating paraphernalia, it was basically a glorified workman's shed.
Once Heather saw the rundown building she fell in love with it. She viewed it as an Easter Egg, a surprise acquisition, as it came with the purchase of the hospital even though it was not listed in the original documentation.
She could not believe the estate agent who told her. “Yes Miss Moore, the gatehouse is covered in the price of the main premises, as are the extensive gardens.”
The gatehouse had not been a deal-maker, but it had certainly sweetened the pot. She decided then and there that the gatehouse was to be her home and to be partitioned off from the hotel. When the day came to sell the hotel, she would reopen the original drive, and retain the gatehouse as her residence.
For now though, the only access to her oddly shaped home was via the grounds of the hotel, which gave her the seclusion that she so enjoyed.
So, now, standing in her semi-circular living room, she looked out of the hotel facing window, waiting for Michaela's arrival.
Her plan was to give Michaela a choice, she would take Heather's discipline, and the previous night's shenanigans would be forgotten, the slate would be wiped clean.
Or, Michaela's other option was to be dismissed, as of today, for gross misconduct.
Should Michaela choose to take the latter option, it would throw Heather's timetable for today into disarray. That, however, seemed to be the least likely outcome, Heather was pretty confident that Michaela would take the discipline. With that in mind, she looked down on her small dining table and smiled to herself.
Lying there on the table was a vicious looking, but, in fact, innocuous riding crop. Next to that lay the innocuous looking, but very hard wooden paddle.
“More choices for miss Nichols to make,” She said aloud to herself, then added, “and here she is now!”
Heather could see her forlorn looking victim walking towards her house. Today she was not dressed in a business suit, today she was wearing jeans, and a sweatshirt. A bit of a disappointment for Heather, as she had hoped to lift Michaela's skirt in the manner that Ralph had last night.
Heather now studied Michaela in a way she never had before. She was slim, not very tall, only coming up to Heather's shoulders though, at five foot ten inches tall, Heather did tend to loom over most females. Michaela's chestnut brown hair was today pulled back in a ponytail, accenting her sharp facial features.
Heather did not wait for the knock on her door; she opened the door just before Michaela reached it and ushered her into her living room. Before Michaela had a chance to take in the oddness of the room's architecture, Heather started talking to, or rather admonishing, her twenty-five-year-old manager.
“Well, Miss Nicols, we seem to be in a bit of a pickle here aren't we? I'm not at all sure as how to fairly address this situation. We could just ignore it altogether, or perhaps even make a commercial play upon it. Our receptionists could wear badges, saying 'Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah', we could get online reviews recommending our 'hot running barmaids'. Do you think any of these ideas or viable miss Nicols?”
Michaela stood in the centre of the room; her eyes cast down at the floor.
“I asked you are any of these ideas viable miss Nicols.”
“No Heather, they are not.” She finally replied, her voice little more than a whisper.
“So in my position what would you do?...Oh, and, by the way, don't call me Heather, call me Miss!”
“I don't know...probably fire me Miss.”
“Well, I can't lie; that was my original intention.” Heather lied. “Then I decided I was being a little foolish in getting rid of someone who until now had proven to be a valuable employee. So, I decided to give you an option, or rather a couple of choices.”
For the first time since Michaela entered the house, her eyes now met with Heather's. Heather could see the hope in Michaela's pale blue eyes.
“Yes, if you take my discipline now, that will be the end of the matter!”
“Your discipline Heather...I mean Miss...I don't understand what you mean?” Michaela said in apparent confusion.
“Last night you seemed to very keen for Mr Morson to spank you?” Heather said, her voice giving no hint of any emotion.
“Well...we were only larking about...” Michaela mumbled her eyes again focussed upon the floor.
“I know, my plan is to show you what a real spanking feels like, not a larking about one. Then you will have another option, after your spanking you will have either a paddling or a whipping.”
“What! You can't possibly be serious?”
“Oh, I'm serious miss Nicols, the choices are yours. Go now, and find another job. Stay and get spanked, followed by a paddling or a whipping.”
“I don't even know what a paddling is....” Michaela said her voice now starting to break.
Heather picked up the paddle from the dining table and handed it to Michaela, then Heather picked up the crop, flexing it in an almost cliched manner.
“Well, those are your choices...”
“But, I don't want to be spanked...paddled or whipped,” Michaela whined.
“Yes, well I don't want to have to spank you. Just as I don't want to fire you, but you have painted me into a corner. As I said, the choice is yours.”
“Will it hurt Miss?”
“Of course, it will hurt silly girl, but then the slate will be clear,” Heather said, now not even trying to hide her amusement at her employee's predicament.
“OK...I'll take the spanking...and this,” Michaela said holding up the paddle.
“Wise decision,” Heather said, placing the crop back onto the table. She then started to pull one of the dining chairs into the centre of the room, she then sat down upon it, “shall we begin then?”
“What...what happens now Miss?” Michaela asked in abject confusion.
“Put the paddle on the table, and then stand here,” Heather said pointing at the floor to her right-hand side.
In silence, the now defeated Michaela complied with her boss's instructions.
“Mr Morson seemed to take delight in spanking you over your knickers, I, on the other hand, believe that a spanking is only a spanking when it is delivered to a bare bottom!” Heather said as her hands went to the waistband of Michaela's jeans.
“Please Miss...” Michaela whined half-heartedly.
Heather could feel Michaela's whole body stiffen up as she unbuttoned her jeans. Slowly, as slowly as she could, Heather pulled the jeans clear of Michaela's hips, revealing a pair of plain full cut black knickers.
“Now, as I said earlier, these have to come down as well.”
As if Michaela needed any reminder, that her punishments were going to be on her bare bottom. As the knickers slowly started their descent to join the previously lowered jeans, Heather gasped in surprise.
“Oh my, miss Nicols, are you an old fashioned girl or just plain lazy? I have never seen a fanny this hairy, except in films from the nineteen seventies!”
“I just like to be natural...” Michaela replied, choking back a sob.
“Ah well, each to their own I suppose, I believe that some men prefer the hirsute look. Over you pop now, and we can begin.” Heather said, her overly cheerful tone masking the gravity of the situation for Michaela.
Once Michaela was in position across her lap, Heather quickly checked her watch; it was nine-fifteen. Her timetable for the morning was running to schedule.
Though Heather would never consider herself to be bi-sexual, she did appreciate the female form, and moreover she gained a certain sexual frisson from being in a position of dominance. She slowly ran her hand across Michaela's waiting bottom, feeling the firm, but also giving flesh of her well-rounded orbs. Michaela had a small behind though both cheeks were well rounded and in no way could her rear be called boyish. No, she was one hundred percent feminine, only smaller compared to Heather's frame.
“Yes, I think I am going to enjoy this next half hour.” Heather thought to herself as she brought down the first stinging slaps onto that yielding flesh.
Michaela surprised herself at how well she was taking the spanking. Sure it felt uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as she had expected. In fact, in a weird way, it was a kind of a pleasant sensation, as the heat slowly built up. The lead up to the spanking had been much worse the actaulité of the punishment. The way Heather had browbeaten her, and then the way she had been stripped, were both far worse than what she was feeling now. Of course, now she realised that the humiliation was all part of the punishment. It was as if Heather was dishing out a meal, one course at a time.
“Now miss Nicols, I know you may not believe this, but I'm actually doing you a favour by spanking you,” Heather said still keeping her voice ever so bright. “By warming you up like this, the paddle will not feel anywhere near as bad as it would upon cold flesh. Should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation again, I will not be so kind, and it will be on cold flesh.”
As she spoke those words, Heather slowed down the spanking; her hand was now coming down much harder as if to emphasise certain words. Each slap was causing Michaela to grunt out in pain, the enjoyable warmth was now being replaced by something altogether less comfortable.
“I think that will do for now,” Heather said, helping Michaela back to her feet.“ after all this is only the beginning.”
Once upon her feet, Michaela started to rub furiously at her stinging nates, this rubbing causing her hips to involuntary push forward towards Heather's face.
“Really miss Nicols, I don't need to have a closer inspection of your ample bush!”
Those words causing Michaela's face to flush nearly as red as her bottom.
“I'm sorry Miss I didn't mean to...” Michaela said her voice trailing off as she could not think of how to end the sentence.
“Shush, never mind all that,” Heather interjected. “I want you to now take off your jeans and knickers.”
“Er...they are off Miss?”
“No, they are down, not off. I want them off entirely.”
This question had an adverse effect upon Heather's until now jovial mood. Before Michaela could register what was happening, Heather had grabbed her left arm, pulled her closer towards herself, and was now slapping the fronts of Michaela's thighs.
“When..I...say...I...want...something...done...I ...want...it...done...OK," Heather said through gritted teeth emphasising each word with a harsh slap.
“Yes Miss, I'm sorry Miss,” Michaela replied, quickly squatting down to untie the laces of her training shoes.
Heather stood over her, smiling at just how well things were going, then an idea crossed her mind as she watched Michaela struggle with her laces. She checked her watch, yes, she still had plenty of time.
“You know miss Nicols,” Heather started lying, “when I was at university, I played for the netball team. Our coach was a strange old bird; she was an ex-forces physical instructor. She had a quite a lot of out-dated ideas when it came to her training methods. Outdated, but still quite effective, if she felt that any of us were not listening, or following her instructions. She would just ask the girl in question to take off one of her plimsolls, and then give her a couple of whacks on her arse with it, just to reinforce her message of obedience.
This was long after corporal punishments in schools had been banned, and, of course, corporal punishment was never a university thing anyway. You know, I don't even think she looked upon it as being a punishment, I believe she just saw it as a good way to remind people of who was in charge.”
Michaela looked up and already knew what was coming next.
“Pass me one of your shoes please miss Nicols.”
Knowing there was no point in arguing, Michaela complied with her boss's command.
“If you would like to stand up, then bend over, grabbing the backs of your knees with your hands.”
Now, totally naked from the waist down, Michaela followed her instruction.
“No, not quite like that,” Heather said, “legs shoulders width apart....yes that's better...head lower please, and push your bottom up...yes that's perfect. Have you any idea of the view I have now? I'm sure you have...the charms that Mr Morson seemed so keen to handle are now quite openly on view. It's a shame that he isn't here eh?”
Michaela looked down to the floor, watching as her first tear splashed upon the carpet.
“These modern trainers are so light, you will probably hardly even feel the two whacks, plimsolls were surprisingly stingy.” As she said that, Heather brought the shoe down quickly, one whack on each cheek. Both impacts, causing, a pleasing to Heather's ears, grunt from Michaela.
“As I suspected,” Heather said, throwing the shoe to one side, “very ineffective. No, don't get up yet miss Nicols! I have to satisfy my curiosity about something.”
Michaela then felt Heather's hand upon her bottom again, only this time the hand was lower between her parted bottom cheeks. Next, to Michaela's shock and disgust, she felt one of Heather's fingers probing the lips of her sex, causing her to jump upright, and shout.
“You fucking pervert...I'm not a lezzer!”
“Shush!” Heather said calmly, but in a manner that would brook no argument “You silly girl, I was just checking if the spanking had got you wet, and look it has!”
Michaela sighed in despair as she saw Heather's glistening middle finger. The despair turned to disgust, as Heather smiled sweetly and sucked her finger clean.
“Don't worry miss Nicols, it's not unusual for a lady to get a little wet when being spanked, I think it has something to do with blood flow. Also, don't worry, I have no designs to seduce you, my tastes lay very much in other directions.”
Heather then picked up the small wooden paddle from the table.
“In the USA, these are often known as The Board Of Education, I think that is such a good name don't you?”
Michaela stood in silence, wide-eyed like a rabbit caught in car headlamps staring at the paddle in Heather's hand.
“Now it may surprise you just how hard this little toy can hit, in fact of the two, the crop would have been a better choice,” Heather said, now back to her previous sing-song tone of cheeriness. “So, with that in mind, you are going to get off with a mere six of the best, in the hope of educating you against flirting with my customers. However, they will be six of the best, three on each of your cute little rosy cheeks. Then after a little corner time for you to reflect upon this morning, you can be on your way, and the slate will be wiped clean OK?”
Michaela had come this far, to back out now at the final hurdle would be sheer stupidity.
“Yes Miss.” Came Michaela's reluctant reply.
“Now there's a good girl, you know it makes sense. Back over as before please, you know the drill. I have to warn you though, these will hurt, hurt quite a lot. However, keep in position, if you jump up, the pop won't count, that's what the call them in the States. Pops!” Heather said in a light, conversational tone.
The first pop hit Michaela's right cheek, the initial impact hurt, but not to the extent that Heather said it would. “This isn't going to be too bad”, Michaela thought to herself, then though she felt that pain turn to heat, and then the heat emanated outwards from the initial contact area.
“It's a shame you can't see this miss Nicols, the little holes in the board are supposed to make it aerodynamic, which I really doubt very much. It does though make such a lovely pattern, even upon your already, very rosy tail!”
The next pop was on her left cheek; again the sensation was the same, pain followed by the unbearable heat. Unbearable heat that she knew she would have to bear.
And, bear it she did.
By the time she received the sixth and final pop, Michaela was openly sobbing; all attempts at composure had fled, as she concentrated on holding her position.
“Very good miss Nicols, you took that really well,” Heather said, congratulating her employee. “Now if you would like to go to the back of the room. Nose to the wall and hands upon the top of your head, you can reflect upon the events of the last two days for half an hour. Oh, and, by the way, no rubbing that pretty little arse!”
Still tearful, but now totally submitted, Michaela obeyed without question. She stood for what to her seemed to her like a burning age. But, was in fact only fifteen minutes; when she then heard, to her terror, a knock at the front door of the cottage.
She twisted around at her hips, though still not moving from her allocated spot, her hands still on top of her head, her eyes full of fear as she stared at Heather.
Heather looked at her watch and said “That will be Mr Morson.”