'A story by Tomas'
As I sit, and wait, I toy with the idea of lighting the wood burner, but if They don't arrive it will be unbearably hot in the little study. So I decide just to have a little fleece hoody handy, should They arrive tonight.
It's odd, that when I bought the old vicarage, my intentions were to thoroughly modernise it.
Now though I spend most of my time, and money, trying to make this study look as old as possible. They seem to prefer it that way. So out went my stereo, and my computer station, in came an old green leather armchair, and a small a old fashioned sofa. After a great deal of rutting around in the attic space, I found some old photos of how the room used to look. I also found two old oil paintings that used to hang above the mantle, a little restoration, and they were as good as new. Hawking around flea markets, to find suitable horse brasses, inexpensive, but time consuming, all worth the effort. You see, the older this wood panelled little study looks. The longer They will stay, but when They will arrive, is another thing. Then I feel the now familiar drop in temperature, I reach for my fleece, and put it on. When I say a drop in temperature, I mean a plunge to almost sub-zero. Then I hear muffled voices coming along the landing. Then They enter, through the closed door. As always the older, austere looking lady with the carpetbag leads the way. The younger girl in tow. Where are They from? I don't know, really the question should be, when are They from? At a guess, I would say, going by their dress late Victorian, early Edwardian. The technical term for them, is an imprint haunting, a tableau that has to repeat itself for all eternity. Having changed the room however, seems to increase the tableau's length, with each little regression in time the show gets that little longer. I call them They, because I know nothing about them. The older woman, could be the vicars wife, or sister? The younger girl, dressed in black, could be a maid, or a young widow, or even a younger sister, who knows.
What I do know is what will follow, once They have arrived.
The older woman will say. "I cannot allow such lascivious behaviour in our house, a house of god!"
The younger will say. "I'm so sorry, it won't happen... it won't happen again."
To what behaviour? What They are referring to I don't know, but the outcome is always the same. The older lady sits down on the sofa, and beckons the younger forward, patting at her lap. The younger, her face already deathly pale, goes one shade whiter, as she drapes herself over the waiting knees. The older one, unbeknownst to the younger, has a little smile at her charges distress. She then lifts the young girl's skirts up high on her back. Bringing her drawers into view, as always she parts the rear flap of her drawers, to bare her little cherubic buttocks. At this point, I sometimes like to have a wander. The whole scene is akin to watching a video, over, and over again. This though is not like watching any video, no matter how HD, or 3D. This is living the moment. You see this moment, is actually living itself out in front of me. I can move around the room. They are blissfully unaware of me, no angle, no view is out of bounds. As the spanking starts, I can take my pick of vantage points. Looking into the young girls eyes, as the blows rain down upon her bared behind? Crouched down, behind her ankles, staring at her labia, as the folds of her sex do a little dance of their own to each blow? Or looking into the older woman's eyes, trying to work out what it is that drives on this pain lust? The choice is always mine, different views, but the same soundtrack, of slapping, and squeals of pain. Tonight though, I decide to relax, and sit out the hand spanking from my armchair, a nice warming tea in my hand. I watch the older woman's face, almost as flushed as the girl's poor posterior, her blue eyes sparkling at the joy of her task. I know the spanking is nearing it's close. The young girl is distressed, but not in full tearful flow. Yet. I rise up from seat, and make my way to behind the sofa, knowing what is to come next.
"Right, get up you shameless little hussy." The older woman orders. The young girl rises shakily to her feet.
"Pass me my bag." The young girl obeys, with fear in her eyes. The older woman delves into her bag, and pulls out first a leather strap, about a quarter of an inch thick. Then follows, a yellowy white tubular object, about four inches long, the sight of which causes the girl to gasp out.
"Please, Ma'am... no not that... please it's so shameful!"
"Silence. You weren't thinking of shame half an hour ago were you? Now lift your skirts, and take down your drawers." The older one orders. Reluctantly, the girl obeys, giving me a view of her lush thick black pubic triangle. "Now over the back of the sofa."
The girl moves into position, her sweet heart shaped face just inches from mine, I look deep into her hazel eyes, waiting for the older to begin her ministrations.
For weeks this had me puzzled, what was the purpose of this white object. Eventually I tracked down what it was, its was root ginger.
The young girl was going to be figged, the root ginger in her anus would make her keep her buttocks relaxed for the strapping to follow. I watch intently, as her facial expression changes. I know the older woman is first inserting one finger into the girls anus, to ease the way for the root. The girl grits her teeth, and closes her eyes, in pain, and humiliation. I look at the older woman's face, she is grinning, enjoying every moment of this. Then with the root in place, we all wait. I can see the expression on the girls face change, as the heat from her fundament starts to build. Sweat is clearly visible on her brow, I want to reach out, and touch her, to console her. I never do though, that could break the charm, so I just watch.
"Please, Ma'am... I'm truly sorry... I'll never do it again." The girl pleads, her pleas fall upon deaf ears.
The strap falls for the first time, the girls mouth opens wide, in a silent scream, her fingers dig deep into the back of the sofa. The older woman, lifts the strap back for the second blow, a look of almost orgasmic relish in her face. I hold my breath, in anticipation... then They both fade away... to nothing.
I'm in the room alone again.
I wish They would stay longer.