by Fiona Locke
Unbuttoning her uniform blouse was more difficult. Her nervous fingers could barely manage the buttons and the more she fumbled, the more awkward the moment became. At last she got it off and handed it to Mr Bathurst as well. It joined her apron and she reached back to unzip her skirt.
‘Just a moment, Haley,’ Mr Bathurst said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Have you shortened that skirt of yours?’
She bit her lip to keep from giggling. Suddenly she was back at school, caught by the headmaster for altering her uniform.
‘Yes,’ she said, grinning impishly. ‘I thought the customers might like it.’ She tried to meet his expression with cocky impertinence, but their scrutiny was too much to endure and she looked down at the floor again.
Lord Asquith sighed. ‘Well, well,’ was all he said.
She found the zip and stepped out of her skirt. Standing in the kitchen in her black bra and knickers, she felt exposed and aroused.
‘Your underwear too,’ Asquith said.
Haley glanced at the open door. ‘But – someone might come in, sir,’ she said plaintively.
Asquith didn’t respond. His silence was a command.
The fear of getting caught was half the thrill, Haley reminded herself. She unhooked her bra, baring her pert breasts. The hard buds of her nipples advertised her excitement. She hesitated, then shyly slid her knickers down, looking over at the door once more before stepping out of them.
She gathered enough courage to draw herself up and hold them brazenly out to Lord Asquith. He took them from her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he offered her the slightest of smiles. He held them to his nose and sniffed deeply.
Mortified, Haley buried her face in her hands. Asquith seemed determined to quash every shred of confidence she managed to muster.
There was sound and movement behind her, but she didn’t dare look out from behind her hands. Mr Bathurst was opening drawers and rummaging through them. She heard the clink and clatter of knives and other cooking utensils.
‘I think this will do,’ Mr Bathurst said.
Asquith voiced his agreement.
Haley stubbornly resisted the urge to look.
‘Right, my girl,’ Asquith said in a maddeningly amiable voice. ‘Up you get.’
She peeled her hands away from her face and saw him patting the large butcher’s block in the centre of the kitchen. Mr Bathurst stood beside it. He was holding a long wooden spoon, smacking it lightly against his palm.
Filled with exhilarated trepidation, Haley climbed up onto the butcher’s block. The wood was cool beneath her naked bottom and thighs. She could feel the scarred surface beneath her, the work of many knives.
‘On your back,’ Mr Bathurst ordered.
Her fear forced her to make light of the situation. ‘If you’re planning a virgin sacrifice, I should warn you …’
‘Do we need to gag you?’ Asquith asked.
Her eyes widened. ‘No, sir,’ she whispered.
He smiled then, a divinely wicked grin that turned her knees to water.
She lay back, crossing her arms over her breasts, her legs hanging over the edge of the block. She stared up at the array of pots and pans twirling lazily above her. The harsh lights of the kitchen made them glint with a clinical chill. She could hardly breathe.
‘Legs up,’ said Mr Bathurst.
Haley gasped. What were they going to do to her? She looked at him pleadingly.
Asquith tutted with disapproval. ‘She isn’t being very obedient. Perhaps we should restrain her.’
Heat engulfed her like a wave, threatening to drown her. There was something strangely liberating in the casual way they were discussing her. She had no say in what happened to her. The helplessness was intoxicating.
Mr Bathurst glanced around the kitchen. ‘I doubt there’s any rope in here.’
Asquith was looking off to Haley’s left. ‘What about …’
He moved out of her line of sight and returned with the roll of cling film. Haley bit back a giggle. All they needed to do now was truss her up like a turkey and stuff her full of …
‘Legs up, girl!’ Mr Bathurst commanded, giving her a sharp swat on the thigh with the wooden spoon.
She yipped and raised her legs up, an obedient little maid, if a rather wayward one. She was seeing her boss in a whole new light.
Asquith held the cling film up to her right leg. He wrapped it around her ankle several times, spooling it out to reach the rack where the pans hung above her. He wound the plastic around the rack and tied it off. Haley tugged at it, surprised at how strong it was.
He repeated the procedure with her left leg, pulling it to the side so that her legs were splayed. They would be able to see absolutely everything. She prayed they couldn’t see how wet she was.
Asquith didn’t stop there. He pulled her arms up over and behind her head. Then he wrapped her wrists together and secured them to the legs of the block. The position thrust her breasts up like an offering. Finally, he passed a wide strip of cling film over her waist, around and underneath the surface of the block, pinning her tightly to it. She tried to struggle in her bonds, but the plastic was much stronger than it looked.
‘Jolly good stuff, this,’ Asquith said with a chuckle.
‘Just the thing,’ Mr Bathurst agreed, tapping the wooden spoon against Haley’s upraised backside.
She flinched, dreading the first smack. She’d been spanked before, but only as a prelude to sex. This promised to be far more intense.
‘This is what happens to naughty maids who steal from their masters,’ he said sternly.
Haley had fantasised about Mr Bathurst before. In her mind he rebuked her for her cheekiness and punished her in childish ways. It was safe as a fantasy. Because then she was in control. Now she was completely at his mercy.
The spoon connected sharply with her bottom, delivering a potent sting. She yelped. Another stroke. Another sharp report of wood against flesh. Another cry of pain. She pictured the precise little red circles it must be leaving on her pale skin and she writhed on the butcher’s block, unable to escape the stinging blows.
‘Oh, please, sir,’ she whimpered between strokes. ‘Oww! I’m sorry, really – I’m so – oww! – sorry!’
They ignored her.
Lord Asquith walked round the butcher’s block, watching calmly as Mr Bathurst spanked her. He stopped directly behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.
He held her down firmly while she tried to wriggle away from the wooden spoon. Then his hands crept slowly down her front until they were cupping her breasts.
Through the pain, Haley moaned and shivered at his touch.
His attentive thumbs brushed back and forth over her nipples, making them stiffen. He pinched them between thumb and forefinger.
Then the wooden spoon directed Haley’s attention back to her burning backside. She howled with pain as Mr Bathurst increased the force and tempo, scolding her for her indolence, her impertinence, her indiscipline. She had forgotten all about the stark view she was presenting to him. She struggled against the cling film, causing the rack to shake. Above her the pots and pans clanged and clattered together in raucous accompaniment to her cries.
Asquith increased the pressure on her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. They stiffened fully, responding to his touch with aching compliance.
Gasping and panting for breath, Haley couldn’t focus on either the spanking or the fondling. The sensations began to blend into one.
Asquith commented favourably on her responsiveness, but Haley was in orbit. She was so intent on finding the balance between the pleasure of his touch and the pain of the spanking that his voice was only a fuzzy echo in the back of her mind.
She closed her eyes and drifted deeper into submission. She felt Asquith’s warm breath on her throat and she arched invitingly, as though presenting herself for a vampire’s kiss. His lips travelled down her neck, lingering above her left breast, making her yearn for his contact. His tong
ue found the hard bud of her nipple, circling it and teasing it. Haley gasped and the sound seemed to fill the cavernous kitchen. She realised that the spanking had stopped. Not daring to open her eyes, she waited for Mr Bathurst’s touch as well.
And when his hand came to rest between her legs she arched her back as much as her position would allow, straining to meet his fingers.
Asquith’s teeth closed softly on her nipple with just enough force to make her whimper. She knew her boss would be feeling the dew the action produced.
Mr Bathurst’s fingers probed and stroked her sleek wetness, making her writhe and squirm. The fire of the spanking had subsided to a warm pulsating glow. She felt herself climbing and her breathing quickened and grew shallow.
Asquith twisted a hand in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat even more. His lips and teeth caressed the vulnerable flesh there and she shuddered as gooseflesh rose on the back of her neck.
Mr Bathurst trailed his fingers over her sex, teasing her and making her grind her hips obscenely to get what she wanted. She was so close. He had to know it. Why didn’t he finish her off? She wanted both of them. They could take turns with her. One could hold her down while the other …
‘I think she’s enjoying this far too much,’ said Mr Bathurst.
The hand between her legs stopped and she groaned with frustration. Mr Bathurst patted her tender bottom, making her wince.
‘Indeed,’ Asquith said. ‘Bad girls aren’t meant to enjoy their punishment.’
Why not? Haley wanted to whine.
‘Mr Bathurst, would you do the honours?’ Lord Asquith was holding a long chef’s knife out to him.
‘Certainly, your Lordship.’
Haley’s eyes widened with terror. Mr Bathurst placed the knife between her breasts and pressed the tip of the cold blade against her skin. She forced herself to stay absolutely still as he drew it sensuously down along the length of her body, stopping at her navel. Then he slid the blade underneath the cling film and sliced through it, releasing her. He repeated the operation with her legs and her arms, though he left her wrists wrapped together.
Asquith stood her up and turned her around to face the block. ‘Now, bend right over,’ he said.
She obeyed, her legs weak from the bondage and the unfulfilled throbbing need. Surely now they meant to have their way with her. She stretched across the block, presenting herself.
‘There is a punishment Victorian governesses used to find most effective on naughty girls. I think it’s especially appropriate for you, Haley.’
She had no idea what he was talking about.
Mr Bathurst was somewhere behind her and to the left. She thought she heard the refrigerator door open and close, but she paid it no mind. Haley closed her eyes and waited. She was their plaything, their slave. They could do anything they wanted.
Her reverie was interrupted by the intrusion of something cold and slippery between her glowing cheeks, too high to reach her sex. At first she thought the hand had lost its way and she adjusted herself to assist.
‘Be still,’ Asquith said sharply.
The oily finger pressed gently against the little puckered rosebud and Haley cried out.
‘No! No, please!’
‘Hush. Do you want your bottom smacked again?’
Awash with shame, she shook her head frantically. She lowered her head to the butcher’s block, mortified at the intrusion. The finger slipped inside her, greasing the passage not even Matt had explored. She was a virgin there. It was a bizarre sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. Still, she wished his hands would roam lower, to where she desperately needed attention.
Gradually, she became aware of a peculiar sound behind her. Some sort of scraping. For a moment she was afraid someone was at the door, but the invading finger was still moving inside her. Surely he would have stopped if someone came in. No, they were definitely alone.
But she couldn’t puzzle out the scraping sound. Like the rasp of a knife against … something.
Without warning, the finger withdrew. Haley heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed against the block. There was a clink as the knife was laid aside. Then Lord Asquith was in front of her. He took her cling-wrapped wrists in his hands, stretching her out across the block until she stood on tiptoe.
‘Since you’re so fond of ginger,’ he said, the corners of his mouth turning up ominously.
Then Mr Bathurst was behind her and she flushed deeply. Now it was his turn. But the cold probe didn’t feel like a finger and all at once it became clear. With an embarrassed cry she tried to pull away, but Asquith held her wrists firmly.
Mr Bathurst spread her cheeks apart with the fingers of one hand while inserting the ginger root with the other. It had a slightly coarse texture, but it didn’t hurt. She made herself relax, surrendering to the penetration.
Suddenly she became aware of a distinct warmth. The ginger began to tingle and she squirmed, waiting for the unfamiliar sensation to pass. But it didn’t pass. The warmth developed into a sharp piquant burning, like the effect of hot peppers on the tongue.
As the feeling built, Haley found herself writhing against the butcher’s block, trying in vain to escape it.
‘Oh, please,’ she begged. ‘It burns!’
One of her tormentors chuckled, but said nothing. It was clear they knew exactly the effect it would have.
Whimpering as the fire intensified even more, Haley struggled against Asquith, trying to pull away. She danced from foot to foot, inadvertently clenching her cheeks and intensifying the sting.
‘Now, now,’ he chided. ‘None of that, my girl. You’re going to take your medicine.’
Mr Bathurst was tearing off a long sheet of cling film, presumably to restrain her kicking feet. But instead, he wound it high around her legs and waist, pulling it tightly up between her cheeks like a transparent thong. It pressed the ginger further inside, holding it securely in place. Haley wailed in misery and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
The burning showed no sign of dissipating. The men exchanged a look and traded places. Mr Bathurst took firm hold of her wrists.
She closed her eyes, feeling faint.
Lord Asquith caressed her over the cling film, making her jump. The plastic retained the heat from her desire as well as the ginger, making the pressure of his touch even more agonising. The ginger continued to burn with each movement of Asquith’s skilful fingers, and she whimpered with pain even as he pleasured her.
Then she was climbing again, quickly and steadily. Sensations shot through her like jolts of electricity and she uttered little gasps and sighs as she struggled both to escape and encourage them. Each time she tensed her muscles she felt the ginger burn.
At last she felt the rising swell of ecstasy and it overtook her with singular intensity as she arched her back, pressing herself into his fingers with breathless abandon. Her eyes squeezed shut, she imploded as the surges of her climax battered her from within.
It lasted so long it was almost unbearable, but soon the throbbing began to subside and she collapsed over the block, panting and shaking and unable to straighten her legs. Mr Bathurst released her hands and she crumpled to her knees, trembling and spent.
It was a long time before she found the strength to stand. She hissed as her movement reawakened the spicy sting of the ginger. With a shaky hand she reached for the cling film at her waist, ready to unwind it and free herself.
Mr Bathurst smacked her hand smartly. ‘And just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?’
She stared at him, bewildered. ‘I … I just …’
He was holding her uniform. ‘Get dressed.’
Bewildered, Haley knew she must obey. But when she reached for her knickers, Lord Asquith plucked them away. ‘I’ll keep these,’ he said, tucking them into his pocket.
Haley blushed and finished dressing, wincing at the unremitting burn. Relaxing her cheeks was impossible.
Mr Bathurst went to the c
upboard and got her a fresh apron. ‘Here. You can’t very well wear yours.’
When she was dressed she stood before them for inspection. Did they intend to send her home with the ginger still inside? Oh, Matt would love that.
Mr Bathurst smiled. ‘Mrs Marjoribanks’s party is in the Wellington Room. They’re expecting tea.’
The Improvement Session
I SMOOTHED MY clammy hands down over my skirt, trying not to think about why I was here. The room was unpleasantly institutional. There were no pictures on the sickly yellow walls, not even one of those soulless corporate still lifes you get in chain hotel rooms. There were no magazines or newspapers to read. Even citizens’ advice leaflets might have provided some distraction. There was nothing to do but fret.
I shifted on the hard wooden bench. I felt too hot, too cold, too apprehensive. Too restless to sit still, too paralysed with dread to move. How had they found out? I’d replaced the money as soon as I’d been able to and I was so sure no one had seen me. But two weeks later I’d come home to find the letter sitting on my little hessian doormat. I knew from the return address that it wasn’t good news.
Dear Miss Parrish,
I regret to inform you that you have been selected for Improvement under the Young Employees Act 2014. As you will be aware, selection for Improvement is based upon reports submitted by employers concerning conduct in the workplace. You are therefore required to attend Mountjoy Discipline Centre at 10.00 am on Saturday 17th March.
Please note that the Improvement procedures may in the short term impair your ability to drive a vehicle. For this reason you should not drive to the Discipline Centre and return transport to your residence will be provided after the Improvement session.
Yours sincerely,
Winston Graham
Improvement Registrar
The bland official note didn’t say what to expect. It read like a nag letter from the dentist, patronising and unavoidable.
We all knew about the Young Employees Act. Since corporal punishment was abolished in schools, the hang ’em and flog ’em brigade had been clamouring for a return of birching for adult hooligans. If childhood was to be sacrosanct, they argued, then citizens should pay for their crimes once they were old enough to appreciate the consequences of their actions.